The Advantage of Perspective
by UP2L8
Summary: Years after the Promised Day, Führer Roy Mustang is well on his way to achieving everything he's ever dreamed of for Amestris. Then he discovers that there might be something he wants for himself.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note****:** I wasn't too happy with the way Brotherhood ended. Blame this on those damn pictures.

**Disclaimer**: Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Hiromu Arakawa. I'm not her. I'll get over it.

Prologue

Dear General Mustang,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. It was a lovely surprise to receive your package. Thank you very much for the teddy bear you sent for Sara's birthday. She absolutely loves it. In fact, not only does she sleep with it every night, she won't be parted from it during the day either. She takes it with her everywhere she goes. For some reason she has decided to name it 'Broccoli', even though it isn't even a little bit green. Apparently three year olds have a special kind of logic all their own.

The rest of the family is fine. Granny is very happy to have us back in Resembool. The move from Rush Valley went smoothly, despite Maes' reluctance to leave his Uncle Domenic behind. Our little boy starts Kindergarten this September. That's just six months away, can you believe it? It seems like only yesterday he was a tiny baby in my arms. He's still quite small for his age – takes after his Uncle Edward that way, though I'd never dare say that to brother – but he keeps up with the older kids in town with no trouble. Like Ed and I back when we were young children, Maes is quite advanced intellectually, and I think the older children appreciate his inventive and devious nature. Since we've moved home there have been quite a few elaborate pranks played on our neighbours, aggravating but nevertheless completely harmless, and suspicious eyes have been on Maes as the instigator. I'm quite certain his accusers are correct in their assumptions, though we haven't been able to catch him or any of the other suspects in the act as yet.

Winry and I will most definitely be in Central for the inaugural ceremony next month, and look forward to seeing you and the rest of our old friends. Thank you for offering the use of your beautiful townhouse, but we have already made arrangements to stay with Gracia. Dinner on the 12th sounds like a great idea though. It will be wonderful to get together and reminisce with you and our Central friends and comrades, and to share what's been happening in all our busy lives. I'm sure it goes without saying, but we are so incredibly pleased that you have finally achieved your goal, and are eager to celebrate the no doubt historic inauguration of the greatest Führer in Amestrian history. I suppose this also means that my brother will soon have to pay back the 520 cens he owes you.

Speaking of Edward, I'm reluctant to ask as I know you are really busy, but I wonder if you could do me a favour. It's been quite some time since I've heard from my brother, and as much as I hate to admit it, I have no idea where he might be, and haven't for almost a year. I hope that he shows up at your inauguration, but knowing his disdain for all things political, I suspect that he may not even be aware that Amestris is about to come under new management. If you have heard from him, or know where he is, would you let me know? And if you happen to see him, could you tell him that I miss him? I would really appreciate it.

Well, that's all the news I have for now. I am enclosing a few pictures that I hope you will share with all our Central friends. The one of Maes and Sara on the tire swing is my current favourite. I'm sure you'll note Maes' striking resemblance to Edward with his tongue stuck out so disrespectfully. Please give everyone our love, and Winry, the kids, and Granny Pinako send their fond greetings your way as well.

Yours truly,

Alphonse Elric.


	2. Masquerade

Author's Note: Look! A real chapter! Thank you to everyone who read, favorited, followed, and _especially _reviewed my scrawny little prologue. It's so nice to hear from old friends. :)

Chapter One: Masquerade

The architecture of the traditional Aerugoan Renaissance palazzo was characterized by a harmonious form of strict, mathematical proportions, and the specimen Roy Mustang was currently drifting through aimlessly was a classic example. Roosting comfortably atop the crest of an escarpment overlooking the Southern Sea, its elegant ramparts enclosed great, triumphal staircases, graceful arches, and intricate balustrades casing lofty balconies. The panorama beyond the Grand Ballroom's floor to ceiling windows was breathtaking, a moonlight silvered view of the city, Nicaia Meditarania, nestled in the thin crescent of shoreline between the sea and the steep ridge surrounding it.

Aerugo had more than its fair share of palatial ancestral estates. This particular sprawling manor belonged to the Doge of Nicaia, who had graciously welcomed Roy Mustang, Führer of Amestris, and his retinue into his home earlier that day with genuine pleasure. The elderly man and his much younger wife seemed to regard their esteemed guest as more of a screen idol than a foreign Head of State, and the Dogaressa had nearly swooned when Roy gallantly kissed her delicate hand. A tour of the house and grounds had followed, hampered very little by the extensive preparations for the evening's much anticipated gala. The peace treaty signed just that morning was certainly cause for celebration on both sides of the border, and if there was one more thing Aerugoans were well known for, it was their elaborate formal celebrations.

The Führer moved smoothly through the celebrants, his half glass of champagne successfully keeping the wait staff at bay. Gracefully navigating the ballroom, artful avoidance was his aim. Roy had been on his diplomatic game throughout the three long weeks of final negotiations and needed a bit of a break. He held himself politely aloof from the festivities, and their host's attractively arranged ambience helped him to achieve his purpose. A string quartet played at just the right timbre to offset the low hum of many conversations. The lighting was just subdued enough to make it relatively easy for the more notable guests to merge anonymously with their less notorious fellows. The elaborate decor was pleasing to the eye, providing artistic distraction. But best of all, the perimeter of the main hall sported a number of conveniently placed alcoves to provide a means of escape for those wishing to evade their admirers, and the dark haired man made frequent use of them.

Roy had to admit to feeling a bit sorry for Riza Hawkeye on that score. As head of his security detail, the many options for concealment had given the woman migraines trying to anticipate possible threats to her old friend, and defences against them. In fact, simply attending this function had been a rather large bone of contention between the Führer and his most trusted protector. If the Hawk had had her way, Roy would have been on a train halfway back to the dubious safety of Amestris by now, sequestered in his private coach. Still, she'd been well aware of Roy's penchant for making himself a very public figure when she accepted the position of Chief Security Officer, and Roy flatly refused to cloister himself in the name of personal safety. Besides, he wasn't your average deskbound head of state. He was Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist. He'd battled inhuman monsters and their deified Father, stone blind, and had survived to tell the tale. By comparison, defending himself from a few mortal assassins would never seem quite as challenging. And it wasn't as if he didn't have backup. Glancing behind, Roy noted that Heymans Breda, his appointed close quarters bodyguard for the evening, was diligently shadowing him at a discrete distance, and the Führer knew that other, less conspicuous protectors were also on hand, ready to defend him instantly should the need arise. The arrangement was a common security practice for most of the senior officials present, and with the many foreign dignitaries in attendance that evening, it would not have surprised Roy to discover that the guards outnumbered the guests.

The Führer continued his meandering through the stately ballroom, no real destination in mind, letting his path lead where it might. It eventually led past one of the small sitting rooms off the main hall, where an all too familiar voice caught his attention.

"I think our friend Borya is starting to get a little impatient with your bullshit," the voice was saying, grin very evident in its tone.

Roy eased closer to peek into the curtained enclosure, pleased to confirm his suspicions. Three young men sat in large, overstuffed arm chairs, lounging around the crackling fireplace keeping the early spring chill in the ancient, drafty manor at bay. One was unfamiliar; a dark haired, beefy youth, ruddy of feature, by his attire a Drachmann of minor nobility. The second sported shaggy red hair falling into bright blue eyes. Tall but slim of build, this young major Roy recognized as a junior aide to the newly appointed Amestrian Ambassador to Aerugo. The third was Edward Elric. There was no mistaking that youthful face, amber eyes now sparkling with mirth. Smirking, the Führer of Amestris kept silent, settling against the doorframe to observe his former subordinate and eavesdrop shamelessly.

Edward's frank observation had the young Amestrian aide sputtering in protest. "It's not bullshit!" he declared, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "I just think we should consider all possible consequences before we do this. Maybe it isn't such a good idea."

The Drachmann snorted and made a comment to Edward, who barked a short laugh of his own. Edward's wry response earned him an answering grin from the Drachmann. Roy did not speak Drachim himself, but the former Fullmetal Alchemist seemed perfectly fluent.

"What did he say?" the ginger haired major asked suspiciously, eyes shifting between his two companions.

Edward sighed, and leaned forward in his chair. "Basically, that you should shit or get off the pot, Collins. You issued the challenge. He accepted. If you're backing out just say so, and stop wasting his time."

Collins scrubbed his hands over his face, sighing. "This is stupid," he said.

"Yes, it is," Ed confirmed. "But you started it. You have to finish it, one way or the other."

The Drachmann watched the exchange, dark eyes amused, and smiled a predatory smile when Collins finally stood and faced him.

"Let's do this," he said, expression grim, and Roy prepared to intervene if it appeared violence was in the offing.

Edward answered the Drachmann's questioning glance with a thumbs up and a grin, resulting in the young noble eagerly launching himself from the armchair. Though his Amestrian opponent stood taller, the dark haired Northman was clearly the more powerfully built, and Roy knew who his money would be on if this proved to be a contest of strength. Rubbing his large hands together, the Drachmann youth rumbled a laugh that voiced his approval of the Amestrian major's decision. Then all three young men leaned in to speak too quietly for Roy to hear.

Suddenly the Drachmann took Collins by the arm and pulled him to the curtained doorway so abruptly that Roy didn't have time to step away. The look on Collins' face when he saw who they'd nearly bulldozed was priceless.

"Excellency, I'm sorry!" he stammered, snapping to attention with a sharp salute as the Drachmann dipped a short, apologetic bow.

"At ease, gentlemen," Mustang returned the salute with a lazy smile. "My fault entirely."

"Yeah, that's what you get for lurking around doorways, listening in on private conversations," Edward offered, resting an elbow on the back of his chair with a wry grin.

"I couldn't help but overhear . . ." Roy started.

"With your ear pressed tight to the curtain," Ed muttered.

". . . that you have some sort of contest planned," Roy finished, ignoring Edward's aside. "Please do keep in mind that while friendly competition is a healthy way to express our patriotism, it would be inappropriate for pride to get the better of us, and for flaring tempers to stain the conclusion of a successful diplomatic mission."

"Don't worry Mustang," Edward retorted, easy grin still firmly in place. "As usual, you've got it all wrong. There's nothing going on here that you have to worry about."

"I'm just offering a bit of friendly counsel. No need for you be short with me Edward," Mustang said, the picture of innocence.

"Been saving that one up for a while, have you, bastard?" Edward growled, smirk wiped away by his scowl.

"Well it _has_ been quite some time since we've talked," Mustang observed, crossing his arms to lean against the doorframe once again. "If you're done scheming, perhaps you could spare me a little of your time. I'd enjoy hearing what you've been up to these past few years."

The Drachmann was observing the exchange with a puzzled half smile while Collins stood stunned, as pale as a ghost, mouth gaping. Clearly the young Amestrian Major was appalled at Edward's blatant disrespect for his country's leader. The Drachmann youth noticed his companion's distress and placed a steadying hand on Collins' shoulder.

Edward scratched thoughtfully at his chin. "Are you actually admitting that there are things going on in the world that you aren't aware of?" he asked. "That would be new."

"I didn't mean to suggest that there were things I didn't know about, Edward," Roy told him with a benign smile. "I simply meant that I would enjoy listening to your always imaginative version of your exploits. For old time's sake." Clasping his hands behind his back, the Führer turned to the other two young men. "Don't let me keep you from your hopefully nonviolent contest, gentlemen," he said, dismissing them with a smile.

Collins took advantage of the presented opportunity, snapped his commander a perfect salute, and then all but bolted away, dragging the stocky Drachmann youth along in his wake.

The Führer entered the small sitting room and moved to sit in the large armchair closest to the fireplace, raising an eyebrow at his former subordinate when he made no move to join him. "Well, Fullmetal? Unless you have urgent business elsewhere?"

"If only," the younger man muttered, reluctantly taking a seat across from his former Colonel. "Fine. If it's a trip down memory lane you're after, great. But don't call me Fullmetal. That's over, and good riddance."

"True," Roy said with a placid smile. "You do realize that it didn't have to be, don't you Edward? Alchemy was only one of your many talents. I would have been more than happy to have you as part of my personal staff. Still would, in fact."

Edward rolled his eyes. "Like I want to hang around with some asshole who thinks pushing my buttons is high entertainment. Fuck that."

Roy had to admit that his former subordinate had a point. "So how have you been keeping yourself occupied? I saw Alphonse last year at the inauguration, and he writes quite regularly. You on the other hand are still very good at staying under the radar." Roy bit back the height reference that was on the tip of his tongue. It was too soon to pull out the big guns. The best way to get information out of Edward was to keep him off balance, and then push his temper over the edge so that he blurted out what he might be trying to hide.

"So? As you just pointed out, you're not my commander anymore. I don't have to report my every move. Where I go and what I do is none of your business."

"Is it so hard to imagine that I might just be interested in the wellbeing of an old friend?" Roy leaned back into the armchair, allowing a small, offended frown to crease his brow.

"Yes." The younger man levelled an incisive glare at the Führer.

"Ouch," Roy grimaced. "That's rather cruel treatment of someone who simply wants to catch up with a respected colleague he hasn't seen or heard from in nearly four years."

"Cut the crap, Mustang," Edward's eyes narrowed. "If all you wanted was a travelogue, you wouldn't be going for my soft spots. You're fishing for something."

Hmm. So he wasn't going to be able to use the guilt card. Pity. It used to be a very effective means of softening the blond's defences. And Edward was aware that Roy was trying to manoeuvre him into some sort of admission. Interesting. Keeping his predatory grin internal, the older man prepared for a somewhat more stimulating battle than he had first anticipated.

"Not at all, Edward," he said, eyes locked to the younger's. "Your suspicions are quite unfounded, I assure you. I was really just hoping that you might entertain me for a while, recounting some of your undoubtedly amusing adventures. After three weeks of intense negotiations, I just want to unwind. If I gave you the impression that this was some kind of interrogation, I apologize. Old habits are hard to break."

The younger man's glare softened somewhat, and he sighed. "For me too I guess," he admitted, relenting. "I haven't been doing very much lately, if you really want to know. Spent the last couple of years in Xing. I got to Aerugo early last week. Crossed the Eastern Desert with Ling Yao's delegation."

"No easy trip, that," Mustang remarked. "Are you planning to continue your travels, or will you go to Resembool to visit your brother and his family? I'm sure they'd love to see you."

"Yeah, I plan to, as soon as I'm done here. The automail needs some adjustments, too."

"Alphonse has certainly done well for himself." Roy kept his tone carefully neutral. "A beautiful wife, two lovely, healthy children, a thriving country practice, three innovative alchemical treatises published and a fourth in the works. I understand that people come from miles around to discuss the practical applications of his theories."

"He's writing another dissertation?" Ed asked with interest. "Any idea what he's working on at the moment?"

"He's keeping that to himself this time, strangely enough. When I spoke with him last month he told me that this paper would likely be quite controversial."

"Hmm," Edward's gaze drifted somewhere off to Roy's left. "I hope he hasn't gone back to his chimera research." Noting Roy's look of surprise, the younger man explained. "He wasn't trying to create chimeras Mustang. What he was working toward was an effective reverse transmutation. It's a bit of an obsession I think. His last attempt involved applying Thompson's genetic theories, but they just didn't translate beyond the cellular level, and we couldn't figure out if it was the theories that were fundamentally wrong, or if the screw-up was with one of our equations. I mean, on paper it looked great, but . . . What?" The blond had finally noticed his companion's astonished expression had not faded.

"I . . . thought you couldn't do alchemy anymore," Roy said flatly.

Edward rolled his eyes. "Just because I can't transmute doesn't mean I've forgotten everything I know," the young man said, disdain for his former superior's intelligence evident. "It's all still there: the Truth's knowledge, everything I studied, all the research. I can still design arrays. I just can't use them." The young man shrugged, appearing unconcerned under Roy's covert scrutiny.

"That must be frustrating," the older man observed. "I wonder how sought after the Alchemist for the People would be if he was still an alchemist." More famous, more respected than his little brother?

Edward actually shuddered. "Yeah, that's the good part about not being a practical alchemist anymore. I can just get on with my life and do what I want. Al can have the fame. People like him. He could do without the attention, but he can handle it, though he gets embarrassed when strangers flock around him asking stupid questions about personal shit that's none of their business. He enjoys debating and defending his theories, even with people who don't have a hope in hell of understanding them. I have no patience for any of that crap and just end up losing my temper." The blond's amber gaze was amused. "Not all of us are attention whores like you, Mustang."

The Führer's dark eyes held concern. "So you don't miss it Edward? The notoriety, the excitement of your days as the Fullmetal Alchemist?"

The young man snorted. "Are you kidding? Being a State Alchemist was a means to an end. Yeah, sometimes I still miss my alchemy, but look at it objectively, Mustang. Alchemy is a tool. A way to perform specific tasks. There are other ways to get things done. And it was well worth giving it up, considering what I got in exchange. Al's life. And he's happy. And so am I."

Roy expected to hear a measure of bitterness in Ed's tone, but all he could detect was honest contentment. It seemed at least that hadn't changed. Al's wellbeing had always been Ed's main concern, and knowing his little brother was leading a normal life, successful in his professional endeavours and happily raising a family with Winry, made the young blond's face glow with pleasure. Edward really did appear to be happy. The older man thought back to the letter he had received from Alphonse, nearly a year ago. He had asked for Roy's help to contact his missing brother. Surely Al would have let Roy know if Ed had been in touch, wouldn't he? Something didn't add up.

Roy schooled his expression into quiet acceptance. "I'm glad to hear it, Edward," he said with a smile. "I'm sure you're looking forward to seeing your brother and his family. When was the last time you spoke to him?"

Now Edward looked a little sheepish. "Well, you know how it is, Mustang. I never was much of a letter writer, and it's kind of hard to keep in touch from Xing anyway. Can't phone, telegraphs are unreliable at best, and mail takes months." The younger man rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, an unconscious gesture Roy recalled as an indicator that Edward was ill at ease.

"When was the last time he heard from you?" Roy repeated.

"It's been a while I guess."

"How long?"

"I don't know exactly. Pretty long."

"Do you measure 'pretty long' in days, weeks, months, or years, Fullmetal?" the Führer asked, no nonsense in his tone.

Edward was uncomfortable enough to miss the use of his old title. "Um. Years. But only two," he defended half-heartedly.

"Two years." Roy kept his face neutral as the younger man avoided the Führer's eyes. "Edward. How could you do that to your brother?"

"Do what?" The blond's temper flared. "And what business is it of yours anyway?"

"Oh, _do_ forgive me," Roy snarled, refusing to back down. "How terrible of me to care more about your brother's peace of mind than you appear to."

"Fuck you, Mustang," Edward growled, voice low. "As usual, you don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Then why don't you enlighten me?" the Führer invited with a scowl.

"Because. It's. None. Of. Your. Business." Edward snapped as he leaned forward, obviously ready to storm out of the room.

"It is when every letter your brother writes to me has how much he misses you between each and every line," Roy shot back.

A direct hit. Edward sagged back in his chair, the wind sucked completely out of his sails. Roy let him stew for a few moments before going back on the offensive.

"After all you both went through for each other, how could you abandon him like that?" the older man asked quietly.

"You . . . never mind." Edward's glare was tempered with a healthy dose of guilt. "I'll be seeing him in a few weeks. I know he misses me. I miss him too. This is . . . what it is. And you're one gigantic asshole."

"And you're a relatively small one." Roy mentally braced himself for the explosion that would effectively destroy Edward's control over his tongue, and allow Roy to move in for the kill.

Much to the Führer's surprise, the expected histrionic blast did not occur; a lethal amber glare and a quiet 'fuck you' were his former subordinate's only response. It seemed that the younger man had finally gotten control of his temper, to a certain extent at least. His height was a familiar trigger, and Edward had obviously mastered his reaction to attacks in that quarter. Oh well. The passionate blond was bound to have other soft spots that Roy could exploit, and the older man was well practiced in the art of finessing peoples' weaknesses. Edward had always been a fairly open book, wearing his heart on his sleeve for all to see. This rollercoaster ride was far from over.

"Well bastard, now that you've had your fun, I guess I'll be on my way," Edward said, youthful face still marked with a scowl. "Wish I could say it's been a pleasure, but . . ." The young man shrugged as he rose from his chair.

Now this would never do. A condescending smile gracing his features, Roy leaned forward. "Well this is new," he said. "Edward Elric running away when the conversation gets a little lively."

"I'm not running away, asshole," the blond snapped, freezing halfway out of his seat. "What the fuck do I look like, the entertainment committee? You want to get your kicks messing with someone's head, find someone else. I'm not your dog anymore, and I don't need this." Teeth bared, Edward's eyes were all but shooting sparks.

The momentary image of a leashed Edward in a spiked leather dog collar flashed through Roy's mind. Now _there_ was a delightful thought. And there as well, perhaps, was another weak point. Edward was young and unattached, and likely susceptible to the urges all men were prone to – and the requisite insecurity and resulting awkwardness most young men experienced thereof.

"My dog? No, Edward. Whatever you may think, I never considered you my dog," Roy stated, voice dropping to a practiced purr. "A dog is much too domesticated a creature compared to you." The dark haired man noted his quarry's raised eyebrows with satisfaction. "A pet. Too tame. No. Not a dog."

Edward remained halfway out of the armchair, eyebrows pushing towards his hairline, the curious turn this conversation had taken effectively stalling his exit from the room. Roy pressed his advantage.

"I always saw you as something much wilder, more feral," he continued, rubbing a graceful finger thoughtfully along his jaw as he regarded the young man in front of him speculatively. "A wolf. Yes, that's more appropriate. An unpredictable creature much harder to master, ferocious, passionate, but still fiercely loyal to his pack mates."

Edward's eyebrows remained high, his eyes locked on Roy's, but aside from that, the young man showed no sign of what he might be thinking about the surprising, and hopefully discomfiting direction this conversation had taken. Good. The blond was likely so off balance now that a single tiny push would tip his composure into the red zone and the battle would be joined.

"What's the matter, Edward? If you find my frankness disturbing, I do apologize. I assure you, there's no reason to be concerned; I don't bite." The dark-haired man's eyes smouldered, locked on the younger's. "At least, not in public." Roy relaxed into the comfort of the armchair, a lazy smile quirking his lips, and braced himself for Edward's explosive, red-faced reaction, secure in the knowledge that some things never changed.

But apparently they did.

Much to the Führer's surprise, the expected explosive reaction never came. Instead, Edward settled into his seat once more. He leaned forward, cocking his head to one side, Roy's gaze catching on the length of golden braid as it slipped over the blond's shoulder. Eyes sparkling in the firelight, Edward smiled a slow, easy smile as he tapped a thoughtful finger to his lips.

"I never expected to see Roy Mustang on the hunt from his prey's point of view," the blond said, amused. "You certainly have a unique seduction routine, pissing me off, then coming on strong. Not that I would have preferred poetry and flowers; I'm not that kind of guy. To be completely honest, I actually wouldn't mind verifying the truth of all those rumours I've heard about you. But do you think you could handle me, old man?"

Roy had great difficulty keeping his jaw from becoming unhinged, and only his years of practice at concealing his natural reactions allowed him to mask his astonishment. Suddenly he was aware that the heat in the air between himself and the former alchemist had taken on an entirely different quality. And just as suddenly, this was no longer a child's game, no longer just a new way to tease and infuriate a much younger and assumed unsophisticated opponent. Without any prior warning this had become something infinitely more intriguing. It was as if a previously unnoticed door had cracked open in front of him, and Roy was catching a glimpse of some new and very attractive options with regard to his former subordinate on the other side.

Of course Central's former premier playboy couldn't have helped but notice that Edward had grown into a striking young man, but had only registered that information in a very objective manner. Now, as he took in the young man's appearance anew, it was like Roy was actually _seeing_ Edward for the first time.

Yes, Edward had grown up. At twelve, small for his age, hair and eyes a bright gold, he had been startlingly precocious and cute as hell, drawing out the parental instincts of his friends and colleagues, much to his obvious, explosive dismay. At sixteen he had cut a striking figure, lean and lithely muscled, poetry in motion, and had begun to catch the eye of those with more mature, less innocent intentions. And now . . .

Now Roy had to admit that Edward at twenty-four was, quite simply, beautiful. Leaning forward across the coffee table, the Führer found himself captivated by wide amber eyes sparkling with mischief. The flex of golden silk draped over a strong, broad shoulder invited Roy's fingers to test if it felt as luxuriously soft as it looked. Ed's face had matured to a classical, angular beauty, strong of line, smooth, youthful, and unblemished. Roy's eyes drifted lower, taking in the breadth of the young man's shoulders under a finely tailored jacket; the swell of his muscular chest behind a snug fitted vest tapering down to a trim waist, where the Führer halted his eyes' wanderings. Lifting his gaze once again to this man's face, he found only a challenging, speculative smile.

"And why would it surprise you to discover that I might be interested, my dear Edward?" Roy purred. "I have very discerning standards, and you more than satisfy my criteria." Roy leaned back, one fine eyebrow raised in appraisal. "You're remarkably intelligent, strikingly attractive, and you speak your mind with forthright sincerity – all very important qualities in my book. As for my being able to 'handle' you, I don't generally 'handle' my lovers. In a sophisticated encounter the participants generally work together to achieve mutual satisfaction. Under the circumstances however, I would definitely be inclined to make allowances for your youthful impertinence."

"Hmm." Edward's smile became cocky. "You talk a big story, Mustang, that's for sure. I guess I could cut your geriatric ass some slack in the stamina department," he said. "You know, for old time's sake."

Roy brought out his infamous smirk. "How very thoughtful of you," he said, low voice smooth as silk. "I'm understandably intrigued by your offer, though I do hope you don't have some kind of endurance competition in mind."

"Not at all," Edward assured him. "It's just that I have heard a _lot_ of rumours about you, and it would take considerable time to confirm them all."

"I'm pleased to see that you are still the consummate scientist," Roy observed. "I find that I am also intrigued by this unexpected development. And I agree. Such a unique and appealing opportunity definitely warrants extensive investigation."

Roy's words were met with a smile so open and honest that the Flame Alchemist was helpless to do anything but smile back. This chance encounter had moved in an unanticipated, but certainly not unwelcome direction. In fact, the turn this impromptu reunion had taken was presenting the Führer with an opportunity to attain something that, under the circumstances dictated by his ambitions, he had long since resigned himself to doing without.

As the most sought after eligible bachelor in Amestris, Führer Mustang received many invitations to intimate liaisons, both subtle and blatant, but rarely did he indulge. His mostly invented reputation as a lady's man still followed him, but Roy did not think that engaging in meaningless flirtations and insincere romantic pursuits was appropriate behaviour for the supreme commander of his nation. He had realized long ago that within the confines of his position it would now be difficult, if not impossible, to pursue a more meaningful relationship. Many of the offers the Führer received were couched in obligations he did not want to take on; proposed alliances and informal agreements with strangers that screamed of personal and political commitments he was not willing to make. And even if he were, it would take a very special kind of person to be his lover. Someone who would understand the demands of his position. Someone who would know that as Führer, Roy's country would always come first. Someone who would not resent his commitment to his duty. In realizing his political aspirations, the Flame Alchemist had been effectively cut off from any possibility of a genuine, long term, intimate relationship.

Or so he had thought.

Roy had known Edward for most of the young man's life. He had watched over him as best he could while the Fullmetal Alchemist and his brother searched for a way to correct their devastating mistake. Edward would have given anything to get his brother back, and the only thing that had stopped him from giving up his own life was the fact that Alphonse would have suffered greatly from that sacrifice. Instead Edward had given up his ability to perform alchemy, something that had been an integral part of his life from a very young age, and by all appearances never regretted that decision for a moment.

Roy had been surprised to hear that Edward was not keeping in touch with his brother. When he'd finally cornered his former subordinate here in this quiet alcove, he had expected to discover bitterness over his sacrifice, perhaps jealousy that Alphonse had moved on with a life, a family, a happiness that Edward felt he was excluded from. But that was not the case. Edward was not selfish in his love for his brother. He didn't expect Alphonse to treat his sacrifice as a debt that had to be repaid. It appeared that he was giving his brother the space he needed to find his own way, clearly pleased that Alphonse was a normal human being again, married to the girl of his dreams and living the life he had chosen for himself. Edward would not stand in his brother's way or hold him back.

If Roy started something with Edward tonight, could he expect the same kind of selflessness?

Even back in the day after Ishbal, as a lowly Lieutenant Colonel, Roy had often run afoul of conflicts between his personal and professional ambitions. Each time he and a partner had begun to develop emotional attachments, Roy had been faced with his partner's disappointment regarding his level of commitment. His lovers had not been able to accept his all consuming dedication to his duty, to see beyond his ambition as more than just a blind lust for power, to understand what really drove him to strive for that power. Feeling neglected, their demands eventually became more than Roy could meet, and parting ways became the only viable option. It wasn't very long before Roy decided that his best course of action was to keep himself from getting close to anyone.

Would it be different with Edward? The young man knew what it was like to have a goal that had to be reached to the exclusion of all else. He knew that some goals required the ultimate in self sacrifice. And as explosively passionate as he could be, Edward also knew how to be discrete, always playing his own cards very close to his chest. Too, he was loyal almost to a fault. And honestly, next to Hawkeye, Roy couldn't think of a more capable person to have at his back. What was being offered still presented risks and challenges, but to Roy that was the icing on the cake. One thing was certain. Time spent with this volatile young man would never be boring. This golden opportunity was far too attractive to pass up.

Roy was just about to propose a change of locale to one more private, to see just where this new development might lead, when the curtain was roughly brushed aside, brass rings chiming loudly on their ornate bar. It took the Führer a moment to recognize the man who swept into the small sitting room, heavy formal robes richly embroidered with Xing's Imperial motif.

"Ah, Edward." Ling Yao, current Emperor of the East, moved around the two seated men to flop unceremoniously into the unoccupied armchair nearest the fireplace. "I was wondering where you were hiding yourself." Looking closely at Edward's companion, the Xingan monarch's face lit up with a happy grin. "And Führer President Mustang! How nice to see you again! And how fortunate, as I was planning to make Amestris the next stop on my tour of the west."

"It is my pleasure as well to see you again, your Eminence," Roy said, inclining his head with a smile.

"Congratulations on the success of your trade negations with Aerugo." The Xingan Son of Heaven propped his feet up on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles. Jewelled slippers twinkled in the firelight. "Not bad for the youngest Führer in Amestris' relatively short national history. What's next? Drachma? Creta?"

"Actually, when I heard that you would be in attendance tonight, I wondered if Xing might be interested in a formal trade agreement with her Western neighbour."

Ling Yao didn't look at all surprised by the suggestion. "I thought you'd never ask," he said. "As you no doubt already know, I plan to be visiting your lovely capital city in two weeks."

"Of course. I look forward to welcoming you and your retinue at that time." The Führer held his pleasant smile, wondering how much longer the Xingan man planned to hang around. Roy Mustang was on the hunt and really wanted to get back to his quarry.

"And I look forward to expounding the many advantages our countries would enjoy as trading partners," the Emperor returned, then cast a fond smile toward Edward. "At any rate, the services of my venerated interpreter won't be needed for our negotiations. I'm sure he will take the opportunity to spend his time off with his family."

Edward slouched into his chair. "I really hate it when you talk about me like I'm not even in the room," he grumbled.

Roy resisted the urge to blink, instead holding onto his benign smile. Edward was a part of Ling Yao's entourage? Although he'd mentioned that he had crossed the desert with the Emperor's party, it had never occurred to Roy that the young Amestrian might be in the Eastern monarch's employ.

The Xingan reached over to give Edward's knee a conciliatory pat, receiving an annoyed growl from the blond. The Führer caught an appraising glance from dark, narrowed eyes, and suddenly remembered that he wasn't the only one in this small room who practiced the fine art of deception and manipulation. The dark-haired man before him might be years younger, but he had been born into the Imperial High Court of Xing, and had successfully manoeuvred himself into the Dragon's Throne.

"Please don't be angry with me Edward," the Xingan said, eyes still on Roy. "I'm only suggesting that you should spend as much time with your brother as possible once you are back in your homeland. You know that your wellbeing is important to me."

"Yeah, it's right up there, after scrounging food and cheating at cards," Ed shot back.

"I do not cheat at cards!" Ling said indignantly. "Führer Mustang, can you believe the abuse I'm forced to endure at the hands of my old friend?" The hand Ling had used to pat Edward's leg had remained on Edward's leg, and with a scowl Edward brushed it roughly off.

Roy was nothing if not observant; an expert at picking up clues from casual observations, he could easily judge the underlying dynamic in most personal interactions. In this case however, Ling Yao was making absolutely no effort to hide anything. Shrewd, calculating eyes held the Führer's, his lazy smile almost challenging, and Roy suddenly wondered how long the Emperor had been standing outside the sitting room, listening to the conversation within, concealed by the curtain just as Roy had been earlier.

And of course Edward, Captain Clueless himself, was completely oblivious to the tacit exchange going on between his two companions.

Roy knew that these two young men had spent months together, living rough in the wilds of Amestris before the Promised Day. They had formed a bond, despite Ling's possession by the personification of Father's Greed. And Edward had more recently spent two years in his Xingese friend's Imperial Court. Had their friendship developed into something more, or was there a one sided attraction on Ling's part? Either way, until Roy knew more, Edward was sadly out of bounds. There was no way that the Führer of Amestris, despite his reputation, would interfere with an established relationship.

But how disappointing, that just as Roy became conscious of how rewarding the amorous pursuit of his former subordinate might become, that he should also discover it might be too late to act on that realization.

Narrowed eyes still on Mustang, the Emperor's voice held nothing but cheerful camaraderie. "I would love to stay and chat, Mr. Führer President, but I came in search of my interpreter for a reason. It seems that the Drachmann Ambassador's nephew and one of your Ambassador's aides have run afoul of Princess Mei's hair trigger reflexes."

Edward's expression suddenly became guarded as he slouched farther down into his chair, slightly hunching his shoulders. The two heads of state pretended not to notice.

"Oh?" Roy said, voice mild. "No serious injuries I hope?"

"None. Just some minor scrapes and bruises," Ling informed him. "Apparently the young men were interested in dancing with two of the Princess' lady attendants, but when they approached, Mei Chang's pet and constant companion, Xiao Mei, took exception to their proximity to the Princess and gave the Amestrian youth a nip on his . . . well, let's just say that he was bitten."

"Lousy little mutant," Ed muttered under his breath.

Ling didn't bother to spare him a glance. "Of course the young man let out a yell, which startled Princess Mei, and by the time it was all over both young men were flat on their backs."

"Please accept my apologies for my countryman's indiscretion," the Führer said, looking pointedly in Edward's direction.

Ling held up a placating hand. "Oh, the young men gave no offence," the Emperor said. "Both of them were perfectly respectful. Someone had even taken the time to teach them how to formally and politely ask the two ladies to dance in the proper Xingese dialect." The Xingese monarch turned his attention to his interpreter. "So my friend, if you will please accompany me, the Drachmann Ambassador would like to know what is going on with regard to his nephew's split lip and bruised ego. It appears that his own interpreter is far too drunk to understand what's going on in his own language, let alone somebody else's."

Edward levered himself up out of his chair and directed a measuring glance at his former commander. "Well, it looks like we'll have to put our joint research venture on hold," he said with a wry smile.

Roy nodded with a frown as he rose as well. "Perhaps I should join you," he directed the suggestion to Ling. "An Amestrian is also involved in this incident."

"Sure, give Collins a heart attack," Ed said with a snort. "It would be the ideal end to his perfect evening. First he nearly tramples his hero who just so happens to be the leader of his country; next he gets bitten by a nasty little Xingan skunk; and then he gets his ass handed to him by a tiny bean girl. You showing up to witness it would be the final kick to his nuts. Don't do him any favours Mustang."

"Your Ambassador has the situation well in hand, Excellency," a grinning Ling reassured the Führer, swinging his slippered feet to the floor and rising gracefully from his armchair. "I'm sure your esteemed presence will not be required for such a minor matter. And so, if you will excuse us?" Taking Edward's arm, the Xingan steered his interpreter from the room without another word.

The Führer stood in the small sitting room for some minutes after the two younger men had gone, half tempted to follow. It wasn't that he thought it necessary to get involved with this incident. The Ambassador he had appointed was more than capable of handling such an inconsequential matter. No, when examining his disquiet, Roy realized it had more to do with how his exchange with Edward had been cut short. He was more than just a little let down with how his evening had turned out. It had been a long time since Roy had been tempted to chance an intimate encounter with anyone, but even so, he was surprised at the depth of his disappointment that Edward was likely off limits.

But was Ed really off the market? The former Fullmetal Alchemist had most certainly been interested in his former commander's advances. And unless the young man's nature had changed drastically over the last few years, he wasn't the type to betray a trust, let alone one so intimate. Still, Ling Yao had definitely been warning Roy off in no uncertain terms, and the Führer of Amestris couldn't afford to go poaching in another Head of State's territory. Best to just let it go.

With a sigh, Roy swept aside the drape and stepped out into the main hall. Draining the champagne from his coupe, the dark haired man located his bodyguard a few feet away, Breda's sharp grey eyes regarding him curiously. It was still rather early, but for Roy the life had gone out of this party. It was time for the Amestrian Führer President to make his apologies, say his goodbyes, graciously tender his thanks to this evening's host, and head for home. Riza at least would be happy to have him tucked safely back under her wing. A phone call to Alphonse would also be in order, to inform him of his brother's whereabouts and plans for a visit to Resembool in the near future.

And then, to add insult to injury, Roy suddenly realized that Edward had managed to distract him from his impromptu interrogation.

Chalk one up for the shrimp.


	3. Interlude - Letter from Al

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who read, followed, and _especially _reviewed the previous chapter. It's all cherry pie, but reviews are the ice cream on top. :)

Chapter Two

Dear Führer Mustang,

Thank you so much for the phone call to let us know that you had run into Edward in Aerugo, and that he was soon to be making his way to Resembool. Typically, he simply showed up on our doorstep last week and yours was the only warning we had.

We were all very happy to see him. Granny gave him some grief about not keeping in touch, remarking on his similarity to our father in that regard, which shamed Edward into grudging apologies and promises to stay in touch as much as possible from now on. Mollified, Granny proceeded to cook up the biggest pot of stew I've ever seen, a feast we all enjoyed.

Winry was expecting Ed's automail to be in rough shape, and was fully prepared to let Ed have it (verbally of course – she doesn't sling wrenches any more) about his lack of appreciation for her workmanship. She was pleasantly surprised when that wasn't necessary. All the automail needed was a thorough tune up and some adjustments for a slight height increase, which incidentally put a rather big smile on Brother's face. As a homecoming gift, my lovely wife is working on an upgraded leg for him. She is putting all the experience gained from working in the pressure cooker commonly known as Rush Valley to good use. The new leg will be much lighter and more responsive, but just as strong as his current model. She has also hinted to me that it will have a few special modifications, but refuses to give me any details.

It's been so long since Ed has visited that in effect, he was meeting his niece and nephew for the first time. Maes was three years old the last time Brother was here and barely remembered the uncle he hears so much about. At first he was a bit shy, but in no time at all the two of them were spending a lot of quality time together, mock sparring in the front yard, eating everything in sight, and wandering the fields. They are very much alike, in appearance and personality, though Maes has much better control of his temper than Ed ever did at his age. They have bonded so completely that I know Maes will sorely miss his Uncle Ed when he leaves, though this time he won't be likely to forget him.

Sara was just over a year old when Ed was here last, and didn't remember Brother at all. She made up for lost time however, getting to know him by asking all kinds of embarrassing questions that Ed did his best to answer, honestly and with a straight face. It wasn't long before she was showing him her prized collection of dolls complete with automail attachments, and the miniature tools she uses to make them. She also helped Winry tune and adjust Ed's automail leg, her face such a mirror image of Winry's in concentration that it was hard not to laugh. Now she often rides on Ed's shoulders when he and Maes go out to range around the countryside amid early spring blossoms, and spends much of the evening snuggled comfortably in his lap, listening to the stories he tells about his travels.

As for me, I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to have my brother back. While he was out of touch I felt as if a piece of me had been jarred out of place, a nagging sensation that something wasn't quite right. Your phone call banished that feeling instantly. Simply knowing that Brother was safe and sound made a world of difference. Now, having him home, watching him interact with Maes and Sara, listening to him argue with Winry and trade good-natured insults with Pinako, being able to bounce my thoughts and alchemic theories off him to gain his inventive and unconventional perspective - all these things give me a sense of peace and wellbeing I have not felt in a long while.

I know Brother will be moving on sometime in the near future. He has only been here for a week, but already I can see the signs of his restlessness. I have asked him what his plans are, but his answers are vague, and I realize that he doesn't know where he will go next, or what he will do when he gets there. He doesn't appear to be unhappy; he just lacks a sense of purpose.

Back when we were searching for the Stone, my centre of gravity was my brother, just as I was his. We kept each other balanced, and that was how we were able to endure the seemingly insurmountable challenges that we faced. I still feel that connection to him, but I'm sorry to say that he appears to have distanced himself from me and is facing the challenge of finding his own special place in the world all on his own. I suspect that he believes I am better off without him in my life, which saddens me. Our lives have taken very different courses. I have everything I ever wanted, living quietly, happily, with Winry, Granny, and the kids, here in Resembool. I know that this way of life would never suit my brother, but I wish he would at least let me be there for him until he regains his sense of direction.

Well. This letter was supposed to be a short but heartfelt thank you for some long awaited news about my brother. It seems to have become a ramble about the sorry state of my relationship with him. I hope you don't mind; after the terrible times we all survived together, and the challenges you now face leading Amestris into peace and prosperity, my concerns must seem quite trivial. The truth is that I find it easy to write to you about these things. You have been an important part of our lives for a very long time, a constant in the chaos, always there to support us through good times and bad, and I trust that you always will be.

I am enclosing a few pictures of the family that I hope you will share with all our friends. The one of Maes, Sara, Granny, and Edward, tangled up asleep on the couch, is a personal favourite. Until next time, we all send our love and best wishes your way.

Yours sincerely,

Alphonse Elric.


	4. Not Words

Chapter Three: Not Words

One month after his chance meeting with Edward in Nicaia Meditarania, the Führer President of Amestris found himself waiting impatiently for the Emperor of Xing to arrive at the Presidential Manor for an informal and very private summit.

Negotiations with the Xingese delegation were complete, the details of a formal trade agreement with Xing hammered out by Trade Ministers and their advisors to both nations' satisfaction. The documents were prepared, awaiting the signatures to be publicly inscribed early the next morning on the terraced landing in front of Central Military Headquarters with much fanfare. The official accord between Amestris and Xing was a done deal, so this meeting had nothing to do with matters of state, though the Führer President had not said as much when he extended his invitation. Roy's true intention was to speak privately with Ling Yao about a personal matter. Given the sharply perceptive look he had received upon extending it, the Führer had been somewhat surprised when the Xingese monarch had enthusiastically accepted the invitation to this clandestine dinner date in Roy's home. Apparently a free meal was still quite the effective enticement for the Xingese Royal.

The Führer had planned the evening very carefully. Due to the many official functions the State's Imperial guest was pleased to attend, Roy's staff had already researched the Emperor's preferences with regard to providing appropriate menus, and Roy made use of that intel for this informal meeting as well. To reinforce the informal atmosphere he wanted to cultivate, the Führer had chosen to dress casually, forgoing his uniform for a simple grey dinner jacket over a white dress shirt, sans tie, and grey slacks. And instead of entertaining Yao in the manor's State appointed dining room, Roy chose instead to receive him in the more intimate setting of his private apartment. Everything was in place.

Everything except for his guest.

Roy stopped his restless pacing of the library and returned to the windows overlooking the circular driveway. The crushed white stone was still vacant, and a quick glance down the long, tree lined drive informed Roy that the main gate was still closed. Damn. His advisors, Riza Hawkeye among them, had insisted that the Presidential estate would be best situated outside of the city, mainly for reasons of security. Roy had eventually given in to their arguments, but it was times like these when he wished he hadn't given up the convenience of closer proximity to the capital.

As mansions go, the Führer's abode tended toward the ascetic. Set on twenty acres of unsullied woodlands some thirty kilometres east of Central, no extravagant statuary or gardens graced the neatly kept grounds. The house itself was quite stately, in keeping with a sense of style handed down through generations of family tradition. A large three story main building of stern grey limestone soothed by ancient Xerxesian ivy housed the State appointed areas, ornate wrought iron window railings the only concession to style. A single two story wing of sprawling neoclassical design, accessed by a wide vestibule off the main entrance hall, enclosed the five lavishly appointed guest suites, Roy's own private living space, the kitchen and other facilities, and the staff quarters.

Built during the late 1700s as a country home away from home by the Armstrong family, the manor conveyed an atmosphere of duty and tradition. Though most of the State's political and diplomatic affairs were conducted through Central Headquarters in the city, Roy had had much of the mansion remodeled to allow him to perform some of the more social functions of his office from the security of the manor when occasion called for a venue more elegant than the austere and imposing centre of military operations. The renovated State rooms consisted of the Diplomatic Reception Room, the State Dining Room, the Ballroom, and the Press Briefing Room, all joined by a large, oval entrance hall on the main floor. A grand staircase swept up to a wide central hall on the second level accessing the Cabinet Room, the Emergency Operations room, five meeting rooms of various sizes, two sitting rooms, and Roy's private offices. The third floor was fully occupied by the library. Left to a decorator under strict orders to avoid the ostentatious, the interior furnishings were elegantly appointed period pieces complementing the manor's architecture.

Turning from the window, the Führer glanced at the library's mantle clock to note that his guest likely would not arrive for at least another twenty minutes. Time enough for Roy to tame his impatience and organize his thoughts.

Which had turned to Edward more often than Roy was comfortable with over the last month, and was the real reason for this private meeting, not with the Emperor of the East, but with Ling Yao.

Between Alphonse' letter and Roy's disappointment with the way his previous meeting with Edward had been interrupted, the Führer was reluctant to simply let the matter drop. He wanted answers, and where better to get them than from the man who had put a very effective stop to Roy's play for his former subordinate in the first place? The more he re-examined their exchange in that quiet alcove, the more convinced he was that Edward's Xingese employer had been determinedly warning Roy off. The question though, was why? Ed had certainly been interested in Roy's advances, meeting them head on, which meant he could not be in a relationship with Yao - or anyone else for that matter. Edward just wasn't the type to betray that kind of trust.

There were, however, a number of other reasons why the Xingese man might wish to dissuade Roy from pursuing his former subordinate.

One possible explanation was purely professional. Perhaps Yao thought that if Roy began an intimate relationship with Edward, the Emperor stood to lose a valuable employee to the competition. Roy did not speak Drachim himself, but it seemed to him that Edward spoke the language with native fluency. After spending two years immersed in Xingan culture, it was likely that the former alchemist spoke Xingese just as well. Edward soaked up knowledge like a sponge, and it appeared that learning languages was another practical talent of which the young man could boast. Roy wondered how many other tongues he might have mastered.

Naturally the Führer of Amestris had trusted and capable interpreters in his employ as well. Most of them were bilingual, some trilingual, and one talented linguist was fluent in four languages. All were privy to some of the State's most delicate diplomatic secrets, and Roy would be reluctant to lose a single one. Still, should any of them decide to leave his office for greener pastures, he would certainly try his best to convince them to stay, but failing that, would bid them farewell and graciously wish them good luck. Roy trusted his people implicitly, and would never stand in another's way or hesitate to support them in their efforts to reach personal goals, just as he had been supported in reaching his own. If it turned out that something along these lines was the Xingan Emperor's main objection to Roy's romantic pursuit of Edward, Roy would reassure the man by reminding him that Edward was an honorable individual, completely and utterly trustworthy, and Xing's secrets would always be safe with him. After all, Edward was also Ling Yao's friend.

Which was another possible reason for Yao's opposition to Roy's pursuit of Edward: simple friendship. The Flame Alchemist had a reputation, though mostly invented, as a man interested in only the basest of liaisons. Perhaps Yao wanted to protect his friend from someone he assumed was a sexual predator. If that was the case, Roy would do his best to assure the young Emperor that he had never unduly pressured a partner who seemed in the least apprehensive about what Roy was offering, and had no intention of starting now. He had always preferred confident partners who could give as good as they got. Deflowering blushing virgins or coercing the reticent and vulnerable to his bed, only to leave them feeling as if they had been ill used, was definitely not Roy's style. As far as he was concerned, one night stand or long term, good sex didn't include hard feelings.

Yet another reason why the Xingan man might have warned Roy off, and the most likely possibility in Roy's estimation, was that Yao had amorous intentions of his own concerning the young ex-alchemist. Edward was after all a very attractive young man, and friendship was an excellent foundation for a deeper relationship. However, since Yao had failed to make any progress in that regard during the two years Ed had spent in Xing, it was fairly safe to say that Edward had no interest in moving his friendship with the Emperor in that direction. If the Xingese man did indeed hope for an affair of his own with Edward, Roy would point out the Emperor's folly as diplomatically as possible, and deem the field clear to make a move on the blond man himself.

There were other possible reasons for Yao's interference of course, but Roy was extremely good at counter arguing his position from unanticipated quarters, particularly when the stakes were high. And the more he thought about it, the more the idea of pursuing Edward intrigued him as a high stakes game worth playing. Still, until he was sure there would be no complications that could cause problems for the State, the Führer would not act on his attraction to the former Fullmetal Alchemist. Roy sincerely hoped that this informal dinner would prove his concerns unfounded.

Because the extent to which he just _wanted_ this continued to astonish him.

The soft click of the library's door alerted Roy to the unobtrusive arrival of the manor's butler. Like all of Roy's house staff, Winston Smith had been hired by Riza Hawkeye after passing a rigorous background check and professional screening. In his late fifties, the portly, gray haired gentleman had been attached to one of Amestris' most prestigious houses for many years. With the Bradley regime's collapse and the resulting economic instability, however, the family had fallen on hard times, forcing Smith's reluctant dismissal. Reserved and unobtrusive, cordial but not familiar, polished and precise in the execution of his duties, and almost eerily anticipative of the needs of his employer, the man was the epitome of professional decorum. Roy could not have asked for a better manservant to oversee his household staff.

"I have received word that your guest will be on the grounds in approximately ten minutes, Sir," the older man said. "Will you receive him in the foyer, or would you prefer that I escort him to your rooms when he arrives?"

"I'll receive him in my rooms, thank you Winston," Roy said.

"Very good, Sir." With a short bow, the manservant moved to the stairway, then waited for Roy to precede him.

They parted ways in the grand entryway, Winston to await Ling Yao's arrival, and Roy to his suite. Now that his meeting was at hand, the Führer was amused to discover a nervous tingle in his chest. Taking a deep calming breath, he quickly mounted the stairs in the residential annex. His rooms were situated directly at the top; a single honor guard in full dress uniform on duty for this evening's conference stood at attention by the door. With a smart salute, the soldier opened the door for his commander, then snapped back to attention. Roy returned the salute and entered, closing the door behind him to lean back against it, shaking his head at his edginess. Casting his eyes about the living room, he allowed the familiarity of the space to soothe him.

The Führer made his home in the largest upper story suite of the east wing. Consisting of a living room, a small dining room, a study, and a large bedroom, Roy's private space was almost plain compared to the manor's more public quarters. Polished cherry panels set an intimate tone, the furnishings spare and subdued, but comfortably homey, and Roy did feel very much at home here in this small corner of the manse. The life of a soldier had left him with few large possessions, and waving off the services of the decorator, he had simply moved in the small number of furnishings he owned and left it at that, wanting the comfort of familiar belongings, but more concerned with matters of State than his accommodations. His paternal aunt and adoptive mother, Chris Mustang, had snorted her opinion of her nephew's decorating skills the first time she had come to visit, then promptly sent over a few of Roy's sisters to 'cozy it up'. They had. With thick pile rugs of deep maroon and dark gold; with comfortable furnishings in autumn tones of ochre and burnt umber splashed with rich burgundy; with subtle accents of cream, ash, and silver; and with Roy's treasured keepsakes of times past sprinkled throughout.

This evening a low burning fire warmed the living room, lighting it with flickering gold. The lamp by his favorite armchair cast a balanced glow, adding to the ambient light. The scent of polished wood and the appetizing aroma of the dinner awaiting him in the dining room completed the welcoming atmosphere. Roy moved into the comfortable surroundings and wondered what the Emperor of Xing would think of this modest space in contrast to the opulent decor of the more public areas of the manor.

Roy didn't have long to contemplate his guest's reaction. A quiet knock, and Winston opened the door to announce that Roy's royal visitor had arrived. Ling Yao entered with a benign smile, followed by his most trusted protector, Lan Fan, her eyes swiftly surveying the room from behind her white and scarlet mask. Roy's Amestrian guard entered as well, moving to stand at ease behind Roy's shoulder. The Xingese warrior stationed herself in a like manner behind her master.

"Excellency. Welcome to my home." The Führer inclined his head with a smile. "In the interest of good will, might I suggest that your guardian make a security sweep of my quarters to put her mind at ease?"

"Thank you, Führer Mustang," the Emperor responded. "I'm sure my devoted retainer will appreciate the gesture. But first . . . " Yao snapped his fingers, and seemingly from thin air, Lan Fan produced a pair of matching porcelain decanters, glazed white and decorated with an intricate pattern of delicate blue blossoms. The Emperor took one and presented it to the Führer. "Shaoxing wine," he explained as Roy accepted the gift. "This vintage is of particularly high quality, aged fifty years. It has a distinctive rosy tint, imparted by the red yeast rice from which it is distilled."

"Thank you, Highness." Roy smiled as he conveyed the exquisitely crafted bottles to Winston. "Do you recommend it as a compliment to our dinner, or for afterward?"

"I will leave that up to you. It is my hope that you will save it, to sample at your leisure," the Xingese man said with a wave of his hand, eyes alight with secret amusement. "And now, with your permission, my trusted protector will inspect your lovely home."

"Of course," Roy said.

At Ling Yao's nod, the Xingese Emperor's bodyguard, accompanied by her Amestrian counterpart, left her charge to walk through the Führer's rooms. The pair quickly returned, then with a deep formal bow and a sharp salute to their respective leaders, the two guards retreated to the hall to take up positions on opposite sides of the doorway. Winston closed the door behind them and slipped unobtrusively into the apartment proper to ready the dining room.

The Emperor of Xing cast his eyes about Roy's personal space, appearing somewhat incongruous. The Xingan man was exotically elegant in a black silk changshan embroidered with a small, blood red dragon coiled just above his heart. His face displayed frank, innocent curiosity, and Roy was reminded once again that the supreme leader of the Xingese Empire was actually a year younger than his former, and youngest, subordinate. Yao moved to the mantelpiece to examine his host's collection of framed photographs. Selecting one that caught his eye, he studied it with a fond smile, then held it up.

Taken in Rush Valley, the picture featured Edward holding his brother's two year old son up for the camera, uncle and nephew sporting identical, maniacal grins. Winry stood beside them, happily cradling her infant daughter in her arms. Alphonse stood centered behind his wife and his brother, looking very pleased with himself. Mei Chang stood at Ed's right shoulder, gazing at Alphonse with an adoring smile. Alphonse had sent Roy the picture not long after Sara was born.

"Edward carries this with him," Ling said with an easy smile. "This is one of the few photos I have seen of Edward with his family. His extended travels tend to keep him out of the picture."

The double entendre was not lost on the Führer, but he chose to let that matter slide for the moment. Roy caught the downward tilt Yao's smile had momentarily taken, and realized that the young man might be a source of reliable information about Edward's self imposed estrangement from his family. He hastily included strategies to glean what information he could from his younger guest that evening as well.

"Alphonse and I correspond regularly," Roy confided. "He has become quite the photographer since his children were born, and likes to share his pictures with anyone he deems worthy," His smile became rueful. "He reminds me a bit of an old friend of mine, though Alphonse isn't quite as aggressive."

"You'd be surprised at just how aggressive Alphonse can be." Yao placed the picture back on the mantle, giving it a small pat. "I received a letter along with a rather large packet of photos last week, delivered directly to the Embassy. Alphonse' way of making up for lost opportunities I suppose."

Again, Roy caught the suggestion of a dual meaning in the Emperors words. Was it unintentional, or was the Xingan man dropping hints by design, knowing that Roy would surely pick them up? Perhaps this evening wouldn't be the frustrating game of cat and mouse Roy had initially anticipated.

Winston's quietly cleared throat preceded his announcement that dinner was served, and Roy led his guest into the dining room. As Roy did most of his official entertaining in the State designated portion of the Manor, this room in his private quarters was relatively modest, though not inelegant. Covered serving dishes surrounded the candelabrum on the sideboard, candlelight glittering on the crystal and silver table settings. The manservant waited by the buffet as the two men took their seats, then approached to serve the wine, displaying the vintage for Roy's approval. Yao eyed the covered china on the sideboard cabinet with hungry anticipation.

As Winston moved unobtrusively about the table, Roy observed his guest. The younger man seemed quite content to wait for Roy to explain why he had invited him into his home, though Roy suspected the Xingan already had a very good idea as to the reason. His next words proved Roy was correct in his assumption.

"Edward was quite upset with me for putting a stop to your . . . conversation the other day," Yao said, examining the ginger carrot soup Winston had neatly ladled into his bowl before taking a taste. He sighed with satisfaction. "Very nice," he purred.

"I'll be sure to pass on your appreciation to our chef," Roy said, taking a sip of his wine. "To be honest, I was rather annoyed with your interruption as well, but I did understand." With a lifted eyebrow, Roy made his intentions more clear. "Business must come before pleasure, your Eminence."

Yao waved a dismissive hand at the honorific. "After all the trials we have gone through together to our mutual benefit, I think we can drop the formalities, at least here in the security of your home." The young man reached across the table. "Please. My name is Ling."

Roy clasped the offered hand. "If you will call me Roy, it would be my pleasure," he replied.

"Of course." Ling took another taste of his soup, then lifted his wine glass, peering through it into the candlelight. "And I must say that you have exceptional taste, Roy," he said with a deceptively innocent grin, his eyes turning to examine his host with sharp intelligence. "Edward would indeed be an excellent . . . acquisition."

The flair of anger he felt at the younger man's words surprised Roy to the extent that he was unable to immediately disguise it. Ling noticed it instantly, and for the first time that evening, the Xingan seemed to relax.

"Acquisition? That's an unusual way to describe a trusted friend," Roy observed, the sting of anger under control. He still couldn't resist adding, "I suppose Xing's Son of Heaven is above such mundane things as simple friendship with lesser mortals."

"Perhaps," Ling allowed. "The question is, are Amestrian Führers above such things as well?"

Roy said nothing, turning his attention to his soup under Ling's penetrating gaze. His guest was deliberately pushing his buttons with surprising accuracy, and the Amestrian wasn't used to being so easily played.

When it became clear that Roy would not respond, Ling sighed.

"Let me tell you what this Son of Heaven has discovered," he said quietly. "It is something I thought I understood before I ascended the Dragon Throne, but the reality almost overwhelmed me at first. I have since come to terms with it."

Roy laid aside his spoon and politely gave Ling his attention.

"To be king requires the will of the people. They grant to me their loyalty, and I return it in kind. It is my duty to serve them and protect them. They must always come first. My own wants and desires are of secondary importance." Ling noted Roy's nod of understanding and continued. "I have acknowledged this obligation from a very early age. When I was younger, the wellbeing of my clan was my priority, and I determined that the only way to ensure their safety was to become Emperor. When I achieved that goal, I declared all the people of Xing to be my clansmen, and their welfare my main concern. I have devoted everything of myself to my people, and have no regrets."

"It seemed that there are a great many similarities between your position and my own," the Führer stated pensively.

"There are," Ling agreed. "But there is one duty that is expected of me that is not a requirement of your station. Your successor will find his or her way to leadership much the same way as you have done. I must provide an heir of my own blood, another link in the royal chain that stretches into eternity."

Roy slowly nodded, beginning to understand.

"I have taken a princess consort from each of the fifty noble houses, except for my own of course," Ling continued. "In addition, I have a number of concubines from the lesser houses. At the moment, I have sixteen sons and twelve daughters. They all live with their mothers on the estates of their respective clans, visiting on occasion. These visits are very formal events, full of ceremony and ritual, ensuring that the honor of everyone involved is duly acknowledged. Unfortunately, it also ensures that I barely know my wives and children. I will not know the joys of a loving spouse, or of true fatherhood, or of close family."

As harsh as his assessment might be, Roy knew that under the circumstances this was the only viable arrangement under which a hereditary monarchy could survive the centuries. One inept ruler, a single weak link in the ancestral chain, would shake the people's loyalty and jeopardise the Imperial family's power structure, resulting in the possible downfall of their dynasty. Consequently, Ling's children would grow up with the understanding that they had been born into a competition for their father's power. They would struggle to outdistance, outshine, and outdo each other in their pursuit of the Dragon Throne, just like their father and his siblings before them. And it would one day be the Emperor's duty to select as his successor the person most suited to rule in the best interests of his people, a natural selection of the fittest candidate for the position. Personal feelings and emotional attachments would be a liability, clouding objectivity with sentiment.

"It is indeed lonely at the top," Roy said in sympathy. "I had long since given up hope of finding someone I might share the unofficial portion of my life with, such as it is. It was a decision I reached well before I fought my way to the Führership."

"'Had'?" Ling raised an eyebrow. "Not 'have'?"

Keeping his face neutral, Roy gave himself a mentally slap. What was wrong with him tonight? He was off his game, letting intimate clues slip. Covering his discomfiture behind a sip of wine, he regained his composure. "Your command of the Amestrian language is impressive, Highness, to note such a minor grammatical . . . distinction."

"Please. Ling." the Emperor corrected. "And my Amestrian has improved over the last two years through regular practice. I can also swear effectively and quite colourfully, thanks to my most excellent teacher, though I have too few occasions to use such an unconventional skill."

It was easy for Roy to guess who that teacher might be. "That kind of ability can only be practiced among close friends," he granted. "It requires a great deal of honesty and conviction to speak so frankly."

"Indeed. I have many faithful and trustworthy advisors, but there is actually only one person that I can count on to tell me very directly that I am being an asshole when he sincerely believes that I _am_ being an asshole." Ling grinned an honest grin. "As someone who spends most of his time with politicians and diplomats, I'm sure I don't have to tell you how refreshing that can be. And how important."

Roy knew the truth of Ling's statement very well. It was one of the reasons why even now, after eight long years, he still missed Maes Hughes terribly, and probably always would. His old friend had been the only person Roy knew who could knock him off an inappropriate pedestal and back down to earth when necessary, and just as easily boost Roy up when he found himself foundering in self doubt.

Ling was not finished. "I must admit that I miss the days of my youth," he said with a smile, and Roy had to smile himself, as from his point of view his dinner guest's youthful days were far from over. "I often reminisce about that bold and daring trek I made to a distant land, desperately following the whispers of a myth that might help me reach my goal. And find it I did, but I found many other priceless treasures as well, quite by accident. Wisdom from experience. Humility from hubris. And the greatest treasure: friendship. For a king, true friendship is rare and priceless, a much richer gift than the fealty owed me by right. I honor that gift by returning it in kind."

"I mean him no harm," Roy stated, his eyes never leaving Ling's as the younger man took a moment to search for the truth within them. The younger man frowned, and Roy decided right then to place his cards on the table. "I told you that Alphonse writes to me regularly. He is worried about his brother."

Ling's surprise was obvious. "He told you this?"

"Not in so many words," Roy admitted. "We have been casually corresponding regularly over the years. Edward had been out of contact with his family for a year before Alphonse asked for my help to find him. When I ran into Ed in Aerugo, I took the opportunity to fish for information. I wanted to find out why Edward had abandoned his family, and perhaps find some grounds for reconciliation. The . . . intimate turn our conversation took was completely unexpected."

Ling tapped a long finger to his chin thoughtfully. "And were your advances just part of your fishing expedition?"

"Not exactly." Roy grimaced. "The brat threw me off my game when he met those advances head on. I have known Edward since he was eleven years old. Believe me when I tell you that I had never contemplated any kind of relationship with him before, beyond the professional."

"And now?"

Roy leaned forward, tenting his fingers under his chin. "And now, I must admit that much like Xing's Son of Heaven, this Amestrian Führer also finds honest friendships rare and valuable. And since I am not required to provide a suitable heir for my people, I am free to discover if a friendship can become something even more rewarding."

Winston stepped over to the table to refill both men's wine glasses. Ling pushed his soup bowl aside and leaned back, expression unreadable. The younger man cast his eyes around the modest dining area, pausing here and there on the framed photographs hung about the room. He lingered longest on Riza and Miles' wedding photo, the couple beaming radiantly. Roy had never seen Riza as happy as she had been that day. After his own failed attempt at romance with Hawkeye, Roy was profoundly grateful that his friendship with the blonde sharpshooter had not been damaged. He had been deeply honored when she'd asked him to act in her father's place, and it had been his genuine pleasure to give the bride away to her ecstatic groom that day.

"Sometimes friendship is all one can hope for," Ling's quiet words intruded on the Führer's thoughts.

"I mean him no harm," Roy gently stated again.

"I'm sure Princess Mei believed that as well when it came to her expectations concerning Alphonse," the Xingese man said. "But even when she knew of his enduring love for Winry, she refused to give up her romantic fantasy and move on. She made a number of trips to Amestris in pursuit of her dream, ignoring her duty to her clan and their marital plans for her. Even after Alphonse finally married his childhood sweetheart, Mei refused to let go of her infatuation, unable to see that it wasn't really Alphonse she was in love with, but her _ideal_ of Alphonse. She was still very young." Ling grinned wryly. "I don't know exactly what happened, but she finally returned to Xing two years ago, full of anger and malice. As I recall, she and Edward arrived in my homeland at the same time, though I doubt they traveled together."

Roy turned this information over in his mind for a moment before he couldn't resist asking, "Does this have anything to do with why Edward fell out of touch with his family?"

Ling pursed his lips and frowned. "I know why he left." Roy waited. "But what kind of friend would I be if I revealed to another the things my friend told me in confidence?" Now it was Roy's turn to frown. "Perhaps, if your own friendship with Edward progresses, he will tell you himself," Ling concluded. The younger man's set gaze told Roy that he would say no more on this matter.

The Führer sighed and leaned back in his chair. He should have known that it would not be easy to get to the bottom of this mystery. Nothing concerning Edward Elric ever moved effortlessly to a simple conclusion. But Ling was right. Roy had to get his answers directly from Ed, particularly if he planned an amorous pursuit of his former subordinate. If a relationship was in the offing, Roy did not want to taint it with deception before it even got started. Roy had to earn Edward's trust.

Roy's attentive manservant unobtrusively removed the now cooled and largely untouched soup bowls as the two heads of state contemplated each other across the dining table. Surprisingly, Roy found the Xingese man a genial dinner companion. The young man smiled, as if sensing Roy's thoughts.

"So tell me, Roy, was it my blessings you were after when you invited me to dinner this evening?" he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Yes," Roy stated outright, surprising the younger man. "I would like to see more of Edward, but I don't want that to cause problems between you and I. As heads of our respective states . . ."

Ling snorted a laugh. "I'm Edward's friend, not his keeper. He is free to do as he pleases, and if it pleases him to do _you_, then so be it."

This complete about face dropped Roy's jaw, though he did his best to conceal it.

He failed miserably. Ling smirked at the older man's surprise and waved a casual hand. "You have allayed all my fears, Roy, and I trust Edward to look after himself."

"I only hope that Alphonse will come to trust his brother as easily as you do," Roy said dryly. "While I do wonder what has caused such a rift between them, I know that Edward can always be depended on to withstand whatever life may throw at him."

"Ah, but Alphonse _does_ trust his brother," Ling quietly insisted. "In many things, his faith in his brother is complete. He trusts his brother's instincts. He trusts his brother's intelligence. He trusts his brother to always do what he believes is right, even if it is difficult, because he trusts his brother's courage. He would trust his brother with his life. Indeed, he has, many times. But there is one thing he does not trust his brother to do. He does not trust Edward to do what Edward needs to do for himself." The Xingese man leaned forward, thoughtfully examining Roy's carefully expressionless face. "For some reason, Alphonse has involved you, Führer Mustang. If I were you, I would be asking myself why. Because there are two more things that I know with great certainty about Alphonse Elric. He loves his brother deeply. And he is a man of great intelligence."

Roy sat quietly for a few moments, taking in what Ling had so earnestly told him. Finally, with just the hint of a smile, he said, "So I take it you would make no objection if I were to offer Edward a position on my staff?"

"Oh, are you in the market for the services of a multilingual interpreter?" Yao asked, taking a sip of his wine and offering a smile of his own.

"As it happens, yes, I am," Roy allowed over his own wineglass.

"Edward does come highly recommended, though I will be very sorry to lose him. I should tell you that he often does double duty as a bodyguard as well. Most people tend to underestimate his abilities due to his youth and – stature. To their regret."

"Some things never change," Roy murmured with a small smile as Winston began to serve the main course.


	5. Interlude: Letter From Al

**Author's Note**: Thank you to everyone who read, followed, and _especially _reviewed the previous chapter. Reviews are the gravy on my mashed potatoes. :)

Dear Führer Mustang,

Thank you for the Cretian wine Mei Chang was pleased to deliver when she came to visit. We enjoyed it over a lovely dinner of Arni me Patates, prepared in the traditional manner by Mei herself. It was wonderful to see her again. The last time she visited we parted ways with hard words and hurt feelings on both sides, and I'm very happy to say that we have managed to put that behind us. I had always counted her among my dearest friends, and have missed her very much. Her clan has arranged a marriage for her to a man she deeply admires, and she told me very sincerely that she is happy, possibly for the first time in her life. This is very likely the last time she will visit Amestris, and came to Resembool to make amends for past mistakes. Her heartfelt apology was enough. We all make mistakes. I find them somehow easier to forgive when they are made in the name of love. And there I go, getting overly sentimental. I find it happens more and more as I get older.

I'm glad to hear that General Hawkeye has finally recovered from the flu she caught while in Aerugo. It must have been very difficult for her to be away from work, but I'm sure she will forgive you eventually for forcing her to take a week off. The kids and Winry were miserable with the same illness for nearly two weeks, and Granny had been avoiding us like, well, the plague. I don't blame her. The virus was a particularly nasty strain, and at her age she finds it difficult to bounce back as quickly as she once did. I was fortunate enough not to catch it, as was Edward, and given that everyone else is back to normal I suspect we are now safe from that bug.

I'm sorry Brother was away both times you telephoned, and that he has neglected to return your calls. He has been ranging far and wide lately, visiting all our old friends, though, as promised, he has been very careful to keep in touch with us here in Resembool. Last week he went to Dublith to see Izumi and Sig Curtis. Two weeks prior he was in Liore visiting with Rose and her husband. He will be in Central next week to deliver the final draft of my latest research article to my publisher. As usual, I made a copy for you, which I have asked Edward to deliver personally while he's in town. As for his plans after that – your guess is as good as mine. He told me that he might continue to travel with Emperor Ling, their next planned destination Creta's capital city, but he didn't seem too committed to the idea. Maybe you can offer some suggestions when he comes to visit. You may not realize this, but he's always had a great deal of respect for you, and as stubborn as he can be, he at least considered your advice before rejecting it outright.

As usual, I'm enclosing a few pictures for you to enjoy. The one of Maes and Sara proudly showing off the results of their fishing expedition reminds me of a similar photo of myself and Edward when we were around their age, an eternity ago. After all we went through, I feel a great sense of peace knowing that my children can grow up without the constant threat of war – and worse - hanging over them, thanks to what we all did, and what you continue to do. I don't believe I have ever thanked you for everything you did for Brother and me, probably because a simple thank you doesn't seem adequate. Nevertheless, I do thank you, Führer Mustang. You made it possible for me to look forward to watching Maes and Sara grow up strong, happy, and safe here at home.

Sincerely,

Alphonse Elric.


	6. Words and Deeds

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who read, followed, and _especially _reviewed the previous chapter. Reviews are like those little sandwiches they serve at fancy parties. You can never have too many.

Chapter Five: Words and Deeds

The day Edward showed up at Headquarters, Roy was dealing with three separate and unrelated political crises.

First of all, on the international front, the Cretian Union had issued an official communiqué that morning criticising Amestris' position on Creta's recent annexation of six townships on the Drachman side of their shared border. As much as the Führer had hated to throw a wrench into the current treaty negotiations with Amestris' western neighbour, Roy's office had publicly condemned the action. The disputed territory in question changed hands every few years in an ongoing tug of war between the two countries, and given the proximity to her own border, it was in Amestris' best interests that a peaceful solution be negotiated once and for all. Like bullies posturing in the playground however, neither Drachma nor Creta were willing to admit that their usual method of 'solving' this chronic problem – shooting at each other – was proving ineffective in the long term.

At the risk of having the two countries set their current grievance aside in indignation and their collective gunsights on Amestris, Roy had offered his country's services as an unbiased arbitrator in hopes that a long term solution could be found that would satisfy both parties. So far neither of the combatants had responded positively to the gesture, but a portion of Roy's capable staff, headed by Riza Hawkeye, were calling in allies native to both countries willing to endorse Amestris' proposal to their respective governments, keeping the situation under close observation. It was a long shot, but Roy was falling back on a time tested political strategy to hedge his bets: crossing his fingers. After all, it couldn't hurt.

At the same time, on the National front, someone, likely a Bradley sympathizer, had leaked sealed documents dating back to the Ishbalan conflict that cast some of Amestris' leading citizens - all supporters of the current Führer - in a far less than heroic light. Roy had personally spent two and a half years in Ishbal helping to rebuild what he and his countrymen had come close to destroying, and restoration was ongoing, but he knew that all was not forgiven by many of the red eyed, dark skinned desert people. Occasionally old wounds would be reopened and tempers would flair, causing undue misery on both sides of the cultural divide. The graphic description of the war crimes outlined by the leaked documents guaranteed that extensive damage control would be required to maintain the tentative amity the two peoples were currently enjoying.

Roy did not condone the terrible deeds done to the Ishbalans by order of Führer King Bradley, and knew that no legitimate defense could be made for the people, himself included, that had carried out those orders. Still, he didn't believe that publicly rehashing those horrendous deeds would ultimately do the situation any good. Quite the contrary. It would only serve to perpetuate the prejudice and hard feelings on both sides. Colonel Miles Mairuzu was in the hot seat for this crisis. His partial Ishbalan heritage, along with his intimate familiarity with both sides of the issue, made him the person most likely able to cool heated tempers and defuse the situation peacefully.

And last, but certainly not least, on the home front, Führer King Bradley's widow had petitioned the Führer's office early last week for permission to travel to Southern Aerugo with her son, Selim, for a holiday. The petition had been rejected out of hand, given Selim Bradley's true nature. Now seven years old, the last surviving homunculus showed no sign of regressing back into the personification of Father's Pride, but there was no way to be sure that he would not. The last time Roy had seen the youngster was two months ago, and the homunculus had behaved like the normal seven year old he appeared to be, aside from the alchemic symbol for gold centered on his forehead.

Not for the first time Roy pondered the significance of the alchemical icon imprinted on the child, representing the perfection of the mind, soul, and spirit. The youngster was under constant surveillance, and would be for the rest of his life – however long that might be. He appeared to be aging like a normal human child, already surpassing Pride's former apparent age, but it was anyone's guess whether there was a limit to the homunculus' life span. Without benefit of a Philosopher's stone, Roy doubted that the boy was immortal, but with no frame of reference it was impossible to predict. Only time would tell. And all of that time would be spent in Amestris under close observation. The general public was still unaware of the true origin of King Bradley and his adopted son, and that wasn't likely to change. Unfortunately, that left the current Führer's office open to complaints of human rights violations against the former Führer's family. Bradley's First Lady had made a statement to the media early last evening expressing her outrage at being unable to take her son away for a seaside holiday, lamenting the injustice of having their personal freedom restricted on Führer Mustang's whim. Heymans Breda was in charge of damage control on that front, assuring the press that the safety of Führer Bradley's family was the main reason for refusing to grant them the requested visas, cryptically hinting at unspecified threats and intrigues to provide distraction from the issue.

The Führer counted himself lucky to have such a capable staff at times like these. His old team, augmented now by fresh but just as dedicated faces, worked so efficiently that Roy had only to suggest a course of action or specify a desired outcome, and they jumped to make it happen to the best of their ability, sharing advice, suggestions, and mutual support. Watching as they laboured shoulder to shoulder, fielding phone calls, issuing orders, perusing documents, maps, and charts, all with a cheerful, optimistic camaraderie, the Führer couldn't have been more proud of his senior staff. And as much as he would have liked to take credit for their rapid rise through the ranks, that credit had to go to General Olivier Armstrong and former Führer Grumman.

In the aftermath of Father's Promised Day, Central Headquarters and the surrounding city had seen a disheartening level of devastation in terms of both personnel and property. Much of the military's upper echelon had been willing allies to Führer Bradley's plans, betraying their countrymen for the immortality Father had falsely promised them. Most had perished when that day came, either in battle against Mustang's forces or betrayed just like the bottled Homunculus' Xeresian allies had been four hundred years before. Those who survived had been arrested in the aftermath as dangerous subversives. Major General Olivier Armstrong had stepped in, and with the ruthless efficiency for which she was so well known, quickly confirmed their guilt and personally saw to their executions.

The freshly instated Führer Grumman then promptly made use of this power vacuum to surround himself with people he could trust, promoting most of Roy's staff, and Roy himself, in the process. Jean Havoc, Alphonse Elric, and Sig and Izumi Curtis, along with a great number of the coupe's non-military allies, were given special civilian commendations. At the time, his spinal injury newly repaired, Havoc had been undergoing intensive physiotherapy and wanted to be sure he was ready for active duty before he rejoined the military. It had later been General Roy Mustang's great pleasure to welcome him back into the fold, and to promote him as well. As for Edward, he had also been offered a substantial promotion. His answer had been his resignation, and the return of his State Alchemist's watch.

Roy's office still appeared to be a chaotic storm of activity by mid afternoon, but all three political situations were inching their way towards a positive resolution. Into the midst of this turmoil Edward waded, booting open the door and bulldozing his way into Roy's office with a blatant disregard for propriety, Roy's personal secretary and the two soldiers serving as his honor guard that day chasing frantically in behind him. The blond waved his Führer a flippant greeting before engaging in some enthusiastic back slapping with Jean Havoc and Heymans Breda, then stepped back to survey the scene of bustling activity with undisguised amusement.

Roy dismissed his discomfited guard and smoothed his secretary's ruffled feathers before turning his infamous smirk on his former subordinate.

The blond didn't even notice. He was offering his congratulations to a beaming Riza and Miles on their recent marriage, and though the well wishes were definitely heartfelt, Roy suspected the move was also a ploy to distract Riza from taking issue with Edward's boisterous entrance. An effective ploy. Roy's usually reserved Security Chief's eyes sparkled with pleasure as her stoic husband shook hands with the younger man. Kain Furey and Vato Falman joined the group gathered around Edward as well, while those new to Roy's staff looked curiously on from the sidelines, eagerly waiting to be introduced to this young man they had heard so much about.

The Führer watched, amused, as his delighted staff both old and new interacted with Edward, and Roy took the opportunity to check out his former - and hopefully soon again to be - subordinate. He had to admit that he liked what he saw.

Illuminated by Aerugoan firelight Edward had been beautiful, and he was no less so in the mid-afternoon summer sunlight slanting in from the high arched windows. But by the dim light of a low burning fire he appeared almost ethereal, a banked ember. By bright daylight he appeared more radiant than the sun. The honey blond, amber eyed expression of his Xerxesian heritage, enhanced by the healthy glow of sun bronzed skin over toned muscles, combined with the burn of his inner vitality to give Edward a powerful presence.

Despite his characteristically flamboyant entrance, Roy also couldn't help but notice how Edward had changed. He would never be a tall man, though Roy noted that he had grown to within an inch or two of the Führer's own height. Edward still managed to dominate the room. But while a younger Edward had done so with a deep scowl and an aggressive demeanor, this more mature Edward did so with an engaging grin and a self-confident flair. His choice of attire had also changed. As a desperate twelve year old his preferences had tended toward clothing that all but shouted his presence. Now his tastes were more refined. A light jacket of tan suede slightly battered around the cuffs fell open over a crisp white shirt. Comfortably faded blue jeans fit just snugly enough to ensure Roy of an inspiring posterior view. The young man bounced energetically on the soles of his canvas sneakers, enjoying the company of Roy's team as they in turn clearly enjoyed his.

"So, bastard," Edward finally addressed him, causing one of Havoc's younger aids to noticeably flinch. "I see you're still up to your old tricks, slacking while your poor, hard working subordinates bust their asses to make you look good."

"It takes considerable skill to assemble a team perfectly suited to guarantee the successful outcome of a specific task," Roy confided. "It's a talent I'm quite proud of, and I make use of it at every opportunity."

Edward snorted as he tugged a thick and somewhat battered leather letter pouch from under his jacket. "If you say so," he said skeptically as he extended the bulging shoulder bag to Roy. "Al asked me to hand deliver this to you. Enjoy."

Roy accepted the pouch with a smile and slipped it under his arm. "Thank you Edward. I always look forward to reading your brother's treatises."

"No problem," Edward said with a grin, glancing around as Roy's staff returned to their respective assignments. "Looks like you're pretty busy around here, so I'll just be on my way."

"Are you staying in town Edward?" Roy's words stopped the young man as he began to turn away.

"Yeah," Edward said, raising an eyebrow. "Gracia invited me to stay over for a few days. Why?"

Roy didn't bother to check the smirk that was growing on his face. So the blond was going to play it cool, was he? Two could play that game. "I was hoping we could meet for dinner." Edward's eyebrow inched a little higher. "Tonight perhaps?" The other eyebrow lifted. "To discuss your brother's research." Both eyebrows dropped. "I'll send a car around to pick you up at seven o'clock."

Edward returned the Führer's cocky grin, a totally different reaction from the explosion Roy had half expected, and muttered a quiet, "Huh. Still a pushy bastard," under his breath. The younger man held his former superior's level gaze for a moment, then smiled that open, honest smile that had so beguiled Roy in a quiet Aerugoan alcove weeks ago. "Fine. Dinner it is," he said.

Roy masked his elation with an easy smile of his own. "Excellent," he said. "I'll be sure to give Alphonse' abstract my full attention later this afternoon while my most capable staff keeps an eye on the country."

Edward's eyes twinkled in mirth, shooting Roy a most appealing grin over his shoulder as he slipped out the door, and the Führer was amused to note the warm feeling it gave him. Resisting the urge to sigh contentedly, Roy clasped his hands behind his back and wheeled around to intercept Riza's penetrating gaze. Smoothing on his most innocent expression did nothing to dispel it.

"Something on your mind, Brigadier General?" Roy asked, deciding to take the bull by the horns.

The Hawk's eyes narrowed, and she moved closer to her Führer. A lesser man would have swallowed nervously, mouth suddenly dry under such intense scrutiny. Keeping her voice low to ensure their privacy, Riza locked eyes with Roy as she spoke. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, Roy," she said, her use of his first name bringing the conversation to a personal level, "but I get the impression that you're planning something with regard to Edward."

Holding his air of ingenuousness, Roy sighed. "As a matter of fact, I am," he admitted. "I plan to offer him a position on staff."

"Oh?" Riza cocked her head to one side, continuing her careful cross-examination of her old friend. "In what capacity?"

"I thought he could get his feet wet as an interpreter, and we would see how it goes from there."

She considered this for a moment. "A civilian position. Good strategy," she said. "Will this come as a complete surprise to him, or have you given him prior warning?"

"It will definitely be a surprise." Roy shook his head in mock weariness. "Wish me luck. I'll need it."

"Good luck," Riza said automatically, then frowned. "Would you mind telling me what brought this on?"

The Führer contemplated his alternatives. He could tell the whole truth, a portion of the truth, or blatantly lie. The third option would be foolish, and a complete waste of time considering how well Riza knew him. Roy hadn't been able to successfully pull the wool over his friend's eyes since their teen years. He decided to go for option number two – the truth, but not the whole truth. His pride wouldn't allow him to reveal his romantic interest at this point, even to his closest friend and comrade, when he could still so easily be rejected.

"Actually, I've been thinking about this ever since I met Edward in Aerugo," Roy said. "Alphonse confided to me that his brother had been out of touch for the last couple of years. Now that he's back, Al feels that Edward is drifting aimlessly and needs to regain his sense of direction. I thought I might be of service in that area."

Riza mulled this over for a moment, still frowning. "I think he would be an excellent addition to the team," she said finally. "He's brilliant of course, and he's obviously matured quite a bit. But as an interpreter? Do you think he'd be up to keeping his head during intense diplomatic negotiations? His temper . . ."

"He has been in Ling Yao's employ as an interpreter for the last two years," Roy interrupted. "He has experience, and comes highly recommended."

Riza looked unconvinced, but did not argue. She simply held his eyes for a few more moments, then sighed and, surprisingly, gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I hope you can convince him," she said. "Just remember that he has many talents; he might be looking for a change. Come up with a few counter proposals, and be sure to keep it honest if you want to gain his trust." Her frown smoothed away to a small smile as she again wished him good luck, and this time Roy knew she meant it.

The Brigadier General, once again all business, moved back to her team for a status report on the Creta-Drachma situation. Roy breathed an internal sigh of relief. She obviously suspected that he was withholding something from her, but had chosen to let it slide. He wasn't altogether sure how she would react to the news that her friend and commander planned to initiate a romantic pursuit of the eldest Elric, though if this dinner engagement went well, Roy would soon find out.

Now all he had to worry about was making plans for the evening. It had been a long time since Roy had had the opportunity to plan a date, and he found that he was keenly looking forward to it.

~0~

As it turned out, all Roy's evening plans for a night on the town flew out the window in the face of Riza Hawkeye's sudden insistence that he retire directly to the Manor later that day. She vehemently denied that there was any specific reason for her assertion, but Roy knew his Security Chief very well. The coolly efficient blonde woman never did anything on impulse. On top of that, Roy noted that there were considerably more than the usual number of guards stationed around Headquarters that afternoon as she personally escorted him to his car, and a small but undoubtedly well armed motorcade escorted the Presidential roadster all the way to the estate. The tension in the car had Roy reflexively tugging at the cuffs of his gloves throughout the seemingly endless drive which the Führer endured sandwiched between Riza and Heymans Breda, their attention fixed grim-faced on the countryside rolling by. When they finally arrived safely on the grounds, Hawkeye hurried Roy inside the mansion, then set about securing the house and organizing a very strict guard rotation that included increased patrols of the entire estate. Something was definitely up.

As a public figure, Roy took his fair share of abuse from both the media and outspoken individuals. The current administration governed as fairly, justly, and transparently as possible, but nobody could please everybody all of the time. Most of the criticism Roy accepted philosophically as part of the job, and after years of Bradley's oppressive rule, the current Führer considered it a personal victory that the Amestrian people felt they could openly criticise his policies without fear. Sometimes however, whether from a sense of frustration, desperation, or outright derangement, threats of violence were made. Roy guessed that this was one of those times. More often than not these threats came to nothing, though they were always taken very seriously. As Chief of Security it was up to the Hawk to handle such matters, and Roy saw no reason to second guess his trusted friend. She would handle the situation as she always did – quietly and capably, the Führer's safety her first priority – and if she chose not to burden Roy with the details, so be it. The Flame Alchemist had never been the type to micromanage his most trusted subordinates.

Shrugging off his disquiet with the ease of long experience, Roy informed Winston that he would be entertaining a dinner guest that evening in his rooms. He requested steak and potatoes, nothing too elaborate, with the details left to his manservant's discretion. Riza had advised Roy to have some alternate job offers ready to bring to the table, so with dinner attended to, the Führer made his way to his private rooms to follow her advice.

Aside from his linguistic skills, Edward did indeed have other talents. For example, he had a proven track record as an in-depth researcher, his years searching for the Philosopher's Stone an exemplarycurriculum vitæ. Ling Yao had mentioned Edward's experience as a personal body guard, and Roy had witnessed firsthand the young blond's martial arts prowess countless times. As Roy's subordinate, Edward had also shown an innate flair for investigation, always managing to ferret out the truth of whatever situation he found himself in while on assignment. It went hand in hand with his unique problem solving style. He often came up with practical solutions in dire straits that would never occur to other, more seasoned veterans in the field. Throw in the fact of the young man's genius, and factor in his public appeal as the Hero of the People, with all things considered Roy was surprised that the man hadn't been approached by any number of private sector organizations already. It was very likely he had, and had chosen to follow his own path, free of professional commitments. So what enticement could Roy offer that might convince Edward to come work for _him_?

The problem was that most of the positions that came to mind were normally staffed by career military personnel, not civilians, and Roy didn't even want to imagine Edward's reaction to the suggestion that he be reinstated. The closest Roy might come to offering Edward a position equal to his talents was as a research consultant attached to either Research and Development or the Investigations division, or as an advisor attached to the committee restructuring the State Alchemist program – neither option an ideal fit as far as the Führer was concerned. Still, it was something that Roy hoped Edward might be willing to consider if he _did_ want a change from his current line of work.

Checking his watch, Roy determined that he had about two hours before Edward was delivered to his doorstep. He wondered how the blond would react when he realized that he would be having dinner with Roy in his former commander's private rooms. The dark haired man grinned at the thought, then retired happily to his study to give Alphonse' dissertation his undivided attention.

Sinking into a large armchair, Roy opened the bulging pouch. A large spill of photographs flooded his lap, and his grin widened. One caught his eye, and he plucked it from the pile. Gazing at the beaming face of Alphonse' son, he couldn't help but wonder what the man this child had been name for might say if he were here with Roy right now. Ed and Al had been like sons to Maes Hughes. How would he feel about Roy's intentions towards the eldest of the pair? Ever the optimist, but at the same time always practical, Maes would almost certainly have examined Roy's motives, issued a few dire warnings, and then clapped his old friend on the back with a rueful smile.

"Wish me luck tonight, Maes," Roy whispered. "I'm going to need it."

~0~

Dinner went very well, though it didn't turn out quite the way Roy expected - par for the course when it came to the Fullmetal Alchemist, former or otherwise.

Edward had arrived with an appetite for both dinner, and apparently, Roy's company. Hair tied back in a high tail that fell well below his shoulders, the young man showed up smartly dressed in a dark jacket over matching slacks, a light grey vest over his crisp white shirt. As Winston relieved his guest of his jacket, the Führer took a moment to admire how the waist coat flattered the young man's trim physique before showing him into the dining room.

By the time the dessert stage was reached, both men were past any lingering formalities, sleeves rolled up, waving silverware enthusiastically about to stress points and opinions. The steak had been a hit, as only melt-in-your-mouth tender porterhouse can prove. The discussion was invigorating, as only the meeting of two highly trained scientific minds examining theories at the forefront of innovation can make it. The company was delightful, as only the vision of Edward Elric in animated conversation by candlelight could be. Roy leaned elbows contentedly on the table watching the younger man polish off his apple pie à la mode, reflecting on the success of his dinner date. Winston cleared the table, then refreshed their coffee and excused himself for the evening as Roy invited Edward to the den to pitch his offer of employment.

"So Thompson isn't as big a douche as it first appeared," Edward was saying as he followed Roy into the living room to take a seat in one of the large armchairs by the fireplace. "His DNA recombination theory did finally have the required practical application in terms of gene separation. It just turns out that it was more a matter of partition than division, primarily at least."

Roy relaxed into his favorite chair and admired the young blond view seated before him. "I still can't believe Alphonse has successfully split a botanical chimera. How long has it been since the initial separation?"

"It's been six months, and not only are all the separated plants still alive, they have flowered and produced seeds," Edward told him with a grin. "If the seeds sprout, grow to reproductive maturity, and remain true to the parent species, that will be Al's crowning glory. And his next research paper." Edward beamed with pleasure in contemplation of his brother's future triumph. "Of course he's nowhere near attempting separation with animals, but this is one hell of a first step."

Roy shook his head, marvelling still at this successful chimeral separation, and wondering at the implications. "I must say that I'm amazed, though I suppose I shouldn't be," the older man admitted. "Setting the Amestrian Association for Clinical Alchemy on its ear is a documented Elric talent. How did Alphonse come up with the idea of separating the chimeral elements through an accelerated natural growth process?"

Edward's grin became feral. "That's kind of a funny story," he said with a quiet laugh. "There was this guy up in Xenotime who was passing himself off as me. Al caught wind of it, and went out there to . . . advise him against it. Turns out the guy and his brother were doing some pretty amazing things with plants, like using natural flora to leech toxins from contaminated soil, and more importantly from Al's point of view, stimulating accelerated growth in herbaceous vegetation. So after Al warned him about the consequences of committing fraud by claiming someone else's accomplishments as his own, they got to talking alchemy. One thing led to another, and just like that," Ed snapped his fingers, "the final problem Al had with confirming his hypothesis was on the road to resolution."

"Final problem?"

"Yeah. Al's transmutation causes the chimeral elements to literally grow apart as separate entities, so that each element's differentiated cellular systems develop to replace any missing portions according to their original genetic makeup. When Al tried to tie the separation to subsequent natural growth rates, the time it took for the missing or undeveloped systems to regenerate became problematic. Incorporating components of the Tringhams' growth acceleration arrays into the transmutation eliminated that complication. At the conclusion of the transmutation, the separated organisms are complete."

"The name Tringham rang a bell when I read Alphonse' references," Roy responded. "There was a Nash Tringham involved with the research team at Lab 5 during the Ishballan Conflict. I wonder if these brothers are any relation to him."

Edward shrugged. "Beats me. Alphonse introduced them to his publisher, and their first alchemical abstract will be out by the end of the month."

"I look forward to reading it." Roy took a sip of his coffee and placed it on the side table. "Right now, though, there is something else I'd like to discuss with you Edward."

"No." Edward placed his own coffee cup aside as well. "I'm not interested in working for you."

Roy blinked. "Did Emperor Yao . . ."

"No."

"Then how . . . "

Edward shrugged again. "I just figured. No offense, but I already explained why I left the military in the first place. Being kept in the dark and led around by the nose, the manipulation, the politics, getting picked on about being short, _which I wasn't_, _and __am certainly _not _now_, all that shit really got on my nerves, and I didn't want to deal with the bullshit anymore. Still don't."

"Have I made any references to your height this evening?" Roy asked, frowning.

Ed bristled. "No," he growled.

"Have I attempted to manipulate you in any way during dinner?"

"No." Edward noted Roy's raised eyebrow. "But you're on your best behaviour because you want to get me under your thumb again for some reason. It wouldn't be in your best interests to piss me off."

"This is not about getting you under my thumb," Roy said earnestly. "I believe that having you as part of my team again would be of great benefit to all of us, yourself included."

"Drop it, Mustang," Ed said, surprisingly without rancor. "It's not going to happen."

"Won't you at least listen to what I have to offer?"

"You'd be wasting your time."

"It's my time to waste." Roy leaned an elbow on his armrest to rest his chin on his hand. "I'm not suggesting that you to be reinstated. I thought you might prefer a civilian position, perhaps as an interpreter attached to the Führer's office."

"You thought wrong."

"You've been working for Ling Yao in the same capacity. How would this be different?"

"Ling's my friend."

"And I'm not?" Roy very carefully kept his smile innocent.

"I don't know. Are you?"

It was Mustang's turn to shrug. "I'm quite sure you are _my_ friend. I have counted you as such since that day underneath Headquarters, when you stopped me from making a terrible mistake."

Edward sighed, remembering that day, and Envy's fate. "Yeah, okay. You're right. I consider you a friend too. You looked out for me and Al as best you could through all the shit back then, even when things got rough for you. But no. I'm still not interested."

Roy studied the younger man's expression, hoping for a cue. He found it frustratingly unreadable. "Perhaps you're looking for a change. Would you consider a position as a research consultant? R and D is always in the market for good people, and you more than qualify."

Ed shook his head, eyes unequivocally stating 'no way.'

"The Investigations Division has the same needs, as you are very well aware." As he should be, after working as Roy's operative in that department for five years.

A grimace. And a thumbs down.

"I have a standing committee planning an extensive reorganization of the State Alchemist program. They could use your invaluable input."

"But they'll do fine without it," Edwards amended.

This was getting frustrating. "Presidential dog walker?"

Edward raised an eyebrow. "You have dogs?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, no."

The eyebrow lowered. "Too bad."

"I could get some."

"Don't bother."

This wasn't going well. Roy had thought Edward was stubborn as a teen. He was twice as bad now, and not as easy to talk around, particularly since his flat refusal to negotiate left no room for argument. "There must be something I can offer that might interest you," the older man griped.

Edward's eyes sparked with amusement. "Well, now that you mention it, there is. But it has nothing to do with employment, and I definitely won't be looking for any kind of monetary compensation. It would actually be more like equivalent exchange."

The young blond stood and crossed the short distance to Roy, stepping in very close. He slowly eased himself onto the large armchair, moving to bracket Roy's hips between his knees, and gently settled into Roy's lap. This gave the dark haired man the unique experience of having to look up into Edward's grinning face, and a new appreciation for his oversized armchair. Satisfied that Roy was offering no protest, the blond rested his hands lightly on the Führer's shoulders. Roy's hands naturally found their way to the younger man's trim waist as Edward leaned down to gently touch his forehead to Roy's.

"I can think of much better ways to waste your time," Edward said, voice low.

"Mmm. You're moving awfully fast, Edward," Roy observed evenly, though his heart pounded.

"Too fast for you?" The younger man's honest inquiry held no hint of challenge, just simple consideration for the other man, making no move to force the issue. "You don't have to romance me Roy."

"Ah. A shame. It's part of the fun," Roy said regretfully. "It also serves to eliminate any misconceptions by either party. I don't want to rush this, and run the risk that either of us might regret what happens here this evening."

"I'm not in a rush; I know what I want. And unless you changed your mind somewhere between Aerugo and Amestris, you did admit that you wanted it too." The blond leaned in even closer, close enough for Roy to feel Edward's quiet words breathed against his lips, but no closer, leaving Roy to make his choice. "Do you want to fuck me, Roy? Because I want to fuck you, and life's too short to play games."

Roy would still have preferred to take it more slowly, but Edward had other ideas, and Roy had to admit that the blond's strength of resolve was quite the turn-on.

"Who am I to argue with a man of such obvious intelligence?" Roy murmured, bringing their lips together.

That was all the permission Ed needed to take control, deepening the kiss, carding his fingers gently through Roy's hair. The older man tightened his grip around the younger's waist, pulling him closer. It had been a long time since Roy had held another in his arms this way. Far too long in fact. And all too soon the blond pulled away, eyes glittering like molten gold, hands smoothing down Roy's chest.

Edward fingered the buttons barring access to Roy's skin. "How much do you like this shirt?" he asked, rubbing the soft material of the collar between his fingers. The buttons were small, and there were a lot of them, and the young man was clearly wondering if he should just tear the shirt open and be done with it.

"I'd like it a lot more if it was on the floor. Preferably in a heap with the rest of our clothes." Roy said, voice rough.

Edward's low laugh was husky. His grin sharpened into a look that suddenly had Roy's stomach tied in knots, a look of hunger, _want_, almost frightening in its intensity. Roy's nerves tingled as his own desire was honed to a fine edge.

Roy wasn't sure what he had expected when this evening began. Certainly not quite . . . this. But there was a rightness about this intimacy in Roy's quiet, fire-lit den, about the heat in Edward's amber gaze, about the way the young man ran his hand lightly down Roy's chest almost reverently. The older man didn't resist when Edward's fingers curled around his wrist, bringing Roy's hand up for his lips to brush the narrow scar in his cupped palm. The gentle touch sent an electric jolt to the pit of Roy's stomach and instantly he was more aroused than he could ever remember being.

Roy's eyes closed as a tongue traced over his life line, his heart line, flicking briefly over his curled fingers. Then the hot mouth shifted from his hand, and Roy's head fell back when lips began to trace a delicate line up his throat, along his jaw and then...wet heat against his parted lips, teeth delicately nipping, nimble tongue teasing, and Roy could remain passive no longer. He felt Ed's breath hitch as he slid his fingers into blond silk to cradle the back of the young man's head, meeting the kiss, responding to it, deepening it. Ed kissed like nothing Roy had expected, with a lazy sensuality that pulled the older man out of the driver's seat and made him content just to _feel_.

When their lips finally parted, Roy opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of something underneath the unbridled desire on Ed's face, something grave. Then it was gone, and Roy wasn't entirely sure it had been there at all. Edward's hungry gaze made his stomach twist as ferociously as the touch of his lips. Earlier impatience overcome, the young blond began to slowly unbutton Roy's shirt, fingers trailing lightly along the older man's body as they moved from button to button, popping each one free, then sliding down to the next. Edward's hands slipped inside Roy's shirt and stroked up his sides, the touch strangely innocent, almost reassuring. Edward was playing his older, more experienced partner like a master, and Roy couldn't help but wonder where the young man had learned the steps of this ancient dance, and from whom, torn between a feeling of appreciation and the sting of irrational jealousy.

"Bed," Edward whispered, his lips brushing Roy's as he spoke.

Then he took Roy's hand and pulled him to his feet into another mind searing kiss.

~0~

Much later, Roy lay panting on his back to wait for his pounding pulse to settle back to normal, serenely sated, contemplating his good fortune. One look at Edward, lying boneless at his side with a satisfied tilt to his lips, half-lidded eyes on Roy's, was enough to spread a roguish grin on the dark haired man's face.

"What's that smirk about?" Ed asked suspiciously.

"I was just wondering how I measure up to those rumors you mentioned." Roy said, a glint of wicked amusement in his eyes.

"The rumors don't measure up to _you_," Edward said with a languid stretch. "I may have to start spreading a few of my own. The current talk doesn't come close to doing you justice."

"Don't be in a rush to publish your findings," Roy smiled, smug. "As a scientist, you certainly understand the importance of replicating results. I recommend broadening the scope of your experimental data. Extensively. Over a considerable period of time."

"Oh?" Edward's brows twitched up for a moment, in what appeared to be . . . surprise? "Well. That's one rumor that I can mark down as bullshit."

"Which rumor is that?" Roy asked with a lazy smile, rolling to face the younger man, head propped on a hand.

"I heard you were only interested in one night stands."

"Some stands definitely warrant more than a single night my dear Edward." The dark haired man traced a finger down the blond's chest, then lower. "And what makes you think we're finished? The night is still young."

"Yeah, but you aren't," Edward pointed out, all innocence. "I wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

Roy pounced without warning. And soon discovered that while he was no match for Edward's physical strength, the young man was extremely vulnerable when it came to strategic tickling.


	7. Interlude: Letter from Alphonse

Author's Note: I had hoped to have this posted a couple of days ago so I could post the main chapter today – 5/20, RoyEd Day. Unfortunately, real life snuck up on me. Oh well. Happy RoyEd Day! The next main chapter will be out in as few days as I can manage.

Chapter Six

Dear Führer Mustang,

Thank you very much for loaning me your first edition Rosarium Philosophorum. I must admit that I was delighted when you offered to have Edward bring it with him to Resembool this week, and have been pouring over it constantly since it arrived, much to my neglected family's dismay. I have seen the woodcuts reproduced and referenced in other texts many times over the years, and it's quite a thrill to see them in their natural habitat. Rest assured that I will keep it safe, and see it returned to you in the same, pristine condition that I received it.

On the home front all is well, though Granny Pinako had us a bit worried a couple of weeks ago. She suddenly became unusually cranky, keeping to herself, eating very little, and working herself to distraction, refusing to tell us what was bothering her. Then last week right out of the blue she decided to take off to Rush Valley for a few days, no prior warning, and was out the door and on a train inside of an hour. Winry called her friend Paninya and her old boss, Mr. Garfield, and asked them to keep an unobtrusive eye out for her, which they were only too happy to do. They reported back with the news that Granny was stepping out with an old flame who shall remain nameless, living it up out on the town. She came home just a few days ago happy and recharged, back to her quirky old self.

Winry and the kids are fine as well. Due to Granny's little holiday, the shop has been very busy with repairs and refits, so most of the child care has been left to me. Maes and Sara are endlessly entertaining. I can't believe how fast they are growing up. Sara seems to be getting taller by the minute, and is fast becoming Maes' chief accomplice instead of just his sweet, tag-along little sister. It's gotten to the point where if the house suddenly becomes too quiet, Winry, Granny, and I all brace for some kind of impact. Between the three of us we can usually keep the little monsters out of trouble, but it isn't easy, and they are getting better at pulling the wool over adult eyes. These days I often find myself wondering how my mother managed as a single parent, all on her own. Bringing up healthy, happy children is a challenging job, even with backup.

Maes starts school in just two months, and is looking eagerly forward to it. His Kindergarten teacher is an old friend of ours, and knows that our little boy is quite advanced for his age – he's been reading and writing since he was two years old, though his handwriting is atrocious. She assures me that he won't be bored in her classroom. Much of her program includes cooperative learning interactions, in which she expects Maes to take a leadership role. I just hope that Maes doesn't lead his classmates where their teacher never expected them to go. He has a tendency to deliberately choose the path most likely to cause maximum chaos for unsuspecting adults, and then he stands back to cheerfully observe the effects.

Brother tells me that he will be heading back to Central by the end of the week. He wants to pay a visit to Tim Marcoh to talk to him about something that has been bothering him for a while, though he artfully avoided telling me exactly what that might be, the brat. I let it go, because he doesn't appear to be in ill health, and because he seems quite content lately - for obvious reasons. I hope I didn't sound too much like an overprotective parent when I spoke with you on the phone. I realize that Ed is more than capable of looking after himself, but he has a deceptively gentle inner nature that is easy to wound, and I can't help but worry.

And there I go again, switching to parental mode. The way I feel right now, I suspect that Maes' and Sara's future boy and girlfriends are in for a particularly difficult time. But in all honesty Roy, I am completely comfortable with your interest in my brother. I can't remember the last time he has been so at ease and relaxed. He is happy, and that is everything I wish for him. And I have you to thank. However long this may last, short term or long, I know he will not regret a moment of it.

As usual, I am enclosing a few photos. The one of Sara and Edward hanging upside down from the tree branch is a little blurred because Winry's scream startled me – and practically shattered my eardrums - when she saw what they were doing. It's been quite a while since she's been motivated to threaten my brother with a wrench, but she came very close that day. Personally I think she overreacted, her protective mother instincts on high alert. The branch was only a metre or so off the ground, and I know that my brother would never allow our little girl to come to harm. He's very careful that way, particularly with the people he cares for the most, so Winry had no real need to worry.

Still, I don't blame her. It's hard to stand by and watch without reacting while someone you love is taking what you perceive as a serious risk, but I'm sure you'll agree that more often than not, the things most worth having can only be gained by taking big chances. Everyone deserves to decide for themselves whether or not to reach for the brass ring, even when it's hard to tell whether or not it might be out of reach. You never know until you try.

All the best,

Alphonse Elric.


	8. Safe Haven

Author's Note: Here it is, as promised, better late than never. Enjoy!

Safe Haven

Whispers had a reputation for excellence in the Central City entertainment district. It was _the_ place to go for a pleasant evening out with great music, a spacious dance floor, stiff drinks, and, hopefully, a chance to meet someone beautiful to go home with. While the main portion of the club was open to those in the general public who chose to brave the long line winding toward the entrance, the club's exclusive upstairs lounge welcomed only the cream of Amestris' social and political elite. Separated from the club proper by thick partitions and tight security, Whispers' inner sanctum boasted a secure and discrete venue where the wealthy and connected could meet to discuss important matters in utmost secrecy, safe from prying eyes.

Or the majority of prying eyes at least. The nightclub was well named, given the chosen vocation of its owner. Chris Mustang, formerly known as Madame Christmas, still liked to be the fly on the wall, and her extensive intelligence network ensured that she usually was.

The upstairs lounge was relatively quiet for a Friday evening when the Führer arrived. Only a few other men sat speaking quietly in some of the cosy booths that ringed the room, and they paid Roy no mind as he made his way to the bar. The house pianist's soft strains of slow, moody jazz drifted up from the club's public area as Roy checked his watch to discover that he still had nearly half an hour to wait before Edward was due to arrive for their rendezvous. He would have preferred to personally escort the younger man to the club, but the blond had pled a prior commitment and arranged to meet the Führer at his Aunt's place of business later in the evening instead. The dark haired man cast a surreptitious glance at the two secret service men assigned to watch over him as they took up innocuous positions in the room, then he moved to the smirking older woman seated at the bar observing his approach.

Chris Mustang had never been considered an attractive woman by any standard, and by her words and mannerism not a particularly clever person either, which only served to prove that a book could never accurately be judged by its cover. And if there was one person in Amestris who knew just about all there was to know about cover, it was Roy's paternal aunt. Once described by Führer Grumman as a bulldog, the physical description was so fitting that it immediately stuck. Her frame heavy set and stocky, the middle-aged business woman's beefy, heavy-jawed face was a study in all things unappealing, accentuated by truly artistic efforts to highlight the imperfections. She had seen it all, and done it all, and made no apologies for either. A shallow assessment of her character based on appearance alone would result in deeming her a crass, unintelligent woman of low morals and even lower character. That assessment would be completely wrong, which was exactly what she intended.

From the beginning of his Führership, very few of Amestris' dedicated patriots thought loyalty to their country synonymous with loyalty to Führer King Bradley. His ruthless drive to expand national borders was cause for concern even without knowledge of the underlying purpose, and the more opposition to Bradley's aggressive foreign policy initiatives was suppressed, the more it flourished in back alleys and taprooms.

At a very early age Chris Mustang had learned that far more interesting tidbits of information could be gleaned from talk in the boudoir than the boardroom. Her familial connections with the military, first through her brother, and then through Roy, ensured that she would always have sources and a market for her merchandise. Guided by wit, determination, and a strong sense of integrity, the dark haired Madame naturally fell in with those questioning the wisdom and motives of the Bradley administration. By the time her nephew had need of her services, the astute businesswoman had built an extensive information network completely off the regime's radar, which she continued to maintain. Though her methods might sometimes be crude, they were inarguable effective. Chris Mustang was still a vital resource for Amestris' current Führer.

Aside from all that, Roy valued his close relationship with his Aunt for many other reasons. The fact that he could always rely on her honest opinion was one. She had taken in her grieving nephew, a lost, frightened child, and had done her best to make a strong, honourable man of him, refusing to hide life's ugly truths from the boy. Aunt Chris was never inclined to minced words, and had no patience for sentimental foolishness. She had seen too much, lost too much, had watched too many friends fail and fall, and if preventing her nephew from suffering at the hands of fate meant hard words on occasion, so be it.

Still, as much as he trusted his crusty relative's honesty and insight, Roy couldn't help feeling a little anxious when he had asked her to join him for a casual drink with Edward. The sly smile with which she had accepted made Roy wonder what she knew about the steadily increasing time he was spending with Ed, and how she knew it.

Because Roy _had_ been spending more and more time with Edward over the past few months.

After that memorable evening in his private rooms at the Presidential Manor, Roy found that Edward was an itch he couldn't resist scratching. He had awoken the next morning to discover Edward missing from his bed, and assumed that the young man had fled. Such was not the case. Winston had soon arrived to inform him that Edward was downstairs in the kitchen, charming his house staff. The young man had wandered in unashamedly begging for coffee, and ended up invited to join the Führer's domestic team for breakfast by Roy's shy young Isballan chef, Isa. Amused, Roy had gone to crash the spontaneous breakfast party, and was relieved to learn that Edward had no regrets about what had happened the night before. Quite the contrary. After consuming a startling amount of breakfast, he had proceeded to lure Roy back to bed to make him very late for his first appointment of the day. Since then, the amount of time Roy had been spending with the young former alchemist had been steadily growing.

At first, whenever he found out that Edward was in Central, Roy began inventing official reasons to call him in to the Führer's Office, often to pitch another job offer to the younger man. When the offer was invariably rejected, Roy would then suggest they spend some personal time together, to which Edward frequently agreed. Gaining more confidence, the Führer then began calling Edward in Resembool, just to pass the time, incidentally wondering when the young man might be back in town. Roy had finally come to the point of actively and unashamedly seeking out the blond wherever he might have ranged in his restless traveling, making casual phone calls just to talk, and to ask when he might be in Central, and if he might be interested in dinner. Roy was beginning to wonder if he was getting in too deep, if he was perhaps letting his heart – or at least his libido - blindfold his reason. So he had invited Chris Mustang to meet his lover and stand in for Roy's objectivity.

Perched casually on a comfortably padded bar stool, this evening saw the beefy older woman in a low cut black evening dress, pose and attire a holdover from her days as a working girl. A string of south sea pearls dipped into her ample cleavage and bright rhinestones glittered on her wrists and fingers in the room's subdued lighting. Leaning an elbow on the bar, shrewd eyes twinkled as her nephew checked the time once again before greeting her with a quick peck on her up-tilted cheek.

"You're early, and that's the second time you've checked your watch since you walked into the room," the stout woman observed, taking a leisurely drag from her ever present cigarette. "You feeling a little nervous, Roy-Boy?"

"No, not really," Roy drawled as he settled on a stool next to his aunt. "Just a bit preoccupied. Work's a little busy at the moment."

The older woman snorted at the understatement.

Despite the ongoing border dispute between her northern and western neighbours, Amestris' Führer had accepted an invitation to visit the Cretian Union's titular capital in hopes of initiating the negotiation of a non-aggression pact. Constantine IV had extended the invitation the previous week, his most trusted advisors in close contact with Roy's for months prior, and it appeared that the King of the Hellenese ready to form an accord. Roy hoped to arrive in Athēnai by the end of the week, and Roy's staff was very busy making the arrangements, which included more than the usual tight security due to General Hawkeye's current level of over protectiveness.

Riza had finally admitted that while no outright threats had been made concerning her Führer, the Intelligence Division had picked up intel on an undefined plot against him. The allusions were cryptic and quite vague, but reliable sources were sure _something_ was looming on the horizon, and that was enough for Riza. As more and more hints came from more and more informants, she had slowly been closing ranks around her superior, placing strict limits on the Führer's public appearances and surrounding him with an almost impenetrable wall of security.

Roy had finally put his foot down, refusing to hide from or behind his people any longer. The argument between Amestris' leader and his stalwart protector had been epic, but Roy had stuck to his guns, pointing out that for all they knew, keeping the Führer hobbled behind barricaded doors might be the true goal of this conspiracy. Führer Mustang had a reputation as a hands-on leader, and all this sneaking around in the name of personal safety was cramping his style. As a public figure Roy liked to be out in public. He liked to attend functions both formal and casual, to meet with cream and commoner and every station in between. That was who he was, and he insisted that until Riza could substantiate the threat, Roy would continue to do things his way. The Hawk had reluctantly backed down, and though security was still more strict than usual, Roy felt he could breathe again.

On top of all this, Roy's office was dealing with the aftermath of a major weapons snuggling operation uncovered in the north. General Armstrong's command had intercepted an arms shipment headed for Drachma almost by accident, and then traced it back to an expatriate Drachmann in North City. In her own inimitable style, Olivier had eliminated the problem in the most brutal manner possible. Unfortunately, she had left no one in any condition to answer questions about contacts and other possible members of the smuggler's ring, making loose ends difficult to tie up. And to add insult to injury, Drachma was complaining that their citizen had been executed without due process. Once again, Roy was left holding the diplomatic bag. And once again, he had been forced to explain to Olivier, as patiently as possible, that diplomacy was _not_ for _pussies_. Her condescending smirk had made it quite clear that she did not agree.

Lifting the small glass of bourbon that the bartender had slid precisely in front of him, Roy resisted the urge to check his watch for a third time in what seemed like an hour, but was likely only five minutes. Chris was already eyeing him in appraising consideration over the salted rim of her margarita, and he didn't think he could deflect her speculations so easily a second time.

"So." The older woman lowered her glass and leaned an elbow on the bar. "Are you and Edward Elric just friends with benefits, or something more?" she asked.

Roy came very close to snorting high-end single malt whiskey out his nose, a public humiliation the Führer of Amestris certainly did not need. He cast a disgruntled glare at his aunt. "The friendship is steadily developing. The benefits are incredible. And as for something more . . . that remains to be seen."

"But something more is what you want."

"I won't deny it," Roy admitted.

"And what does he want?"

Roy had to admit that his Aunt had cut directly to the crux of his uneasy concern. The fact of the matter was that Roy had no idea what Edward might want from him. As his superior officer, Roy had always been easily able to read what the young alchemist was thinking directly from the play of emotion across his face. Edward had been a refreshingly guileless open book, his sense of honor and moral compass making his motivation easy to establish and his actions easy to predict. Now however, the young man had learned to protect himself. Still refreshingly open and honest, he did a much better job of hiding his vulnerabilities safely out of sight.

Roy was saved from responding to Chris' astute line of questioning by the arrival of his date.

Edward walked into the room and cast about for a moment, zeroing in on Roy and his Aunt at the bar. With a purposeful stride he approached the pair, eyes sparkling, smile confident. Roy rose to greet him, well aware of Chris' critical observation of his undisguised pleasure at Edward's arrival. And what the hell. He _was_ happy to see the younger man. Sue him.

Edward appeared pleased to see Roy as well, treating him to the dazzling smile that so entranced the older man. It had been just over a week since they had been able to get together, though they had spoken on the phone twice during that period, and Roy felt it had been far too long. Oh, he was in deep, that was for sure. But was that bad, or good? Each phone call, every meeting, every single one of their interactions had been initiated by Roy, and although Ed looked as if he was content to spend time with him, Roy couldn't help but wonder if he was investing far too much of himself in a lover who only saw him as a casual indulgence.

And if that was the case, it would certainly be ironic.

Chris Mustang's garishly painted lips tilted into a lopsided grin as the young blond approached, her dark beady eyes almost glittering with concentrated curiosity. Undaunted, Edward's own smile broadened as he stepped into close proximity of that intimidating gaze.

"Edward, this is my aunt, Chris Mustang," Roy formally introduced them. "Aunt Chris, meet Edward Elric."

Chris thrust out a pudgy, rhinestone adorned hand which Ed clasped firmly. "Nice to meet you, Fullmetal Alchemist," the older woman said.

"Likewise, Miz Mustang, but that Fullmetal business is over," Edward replied with an easy grin. "I'm just Ed."

"Just Ed it is," Chris said. She tilted her head to one side as she patted the barstool next to hers, appraising the young man with a half smile that Roy was very familiar with. Her eyes gleamed like gunmetal. "So, what are your intentions with regard to my nephew?" the older woman enquired bluntly.

"Do you mean later this evening, or in general?" Ed asked as he took the indicated seat, eyebrows raised, the picture of innocence.

The woman pursed her lips in thought. "Later this evening," she decided.

Ed frowned in serious contemplation for a moment, tipping his chin up and staring thoughtfully at the ceiling before replying. "My intentions are totally dishonorable," he said, looking the older woman straight in the eye. "I plan to take full and complete advantage of him. I guess how far I get depends on how drunk I can get him."

"Why don't we get _you_ a drink?" Chris suggested. A coyly smiling barmaid approached to set a tall, frosted glass of pale ale on a coaster by Ed's elbow. "We have Green Lion on tap. Your preferred brand." The older woman's grin suggested that Ed was quite out of his league when it came to tangling with Madam Christmas.

"Thank you," Ed said unperturbed, raising his glass to salute his hostess before taking a sip.

"You're welcome," she returned. "So Ed, tell me a little about yourself."

"Not much to tell," Ed said.

The older woman waited, sipping from salted crystal, eyes expectant.

The young man shrugged. "I used to be an alchemist. I used to be a dog of the military. I used to be . . .," he thought about it for a moment before one side of his mouth twitched up, ". . . a lot busier. Now I'm just Ed." He tilted his head and smiled. "How about you?"

Roy watched his aunt watch Ed and resisted the urge to interfere. With her blasé courtesan's mask firmly in place, anyone who did not know her intimately would not notice the keen intensity of her observation, a predator poised, ready to gauge her hapless prey's reaction.

"I used to be a working girl. I used to run a brothel. I took in my nephew when he lost his parents and raised him like he was my own son. Now I'm the Führer's aunt. Not bad for an old whore, wouldn't you say?" she replied with a cockeyed grin.

Ed laughed, eyes sparkling. "Yeah, that's life for you. You never know just how it's going to scramble your plans," he said, and raised his glass to his lips.

Chris just sat there for a moment. Then she tilted a look at Roy. "I like him," she said, and turned back to Ed.

~0~

The mood lightened considerably after that, and the evening became positively genial. Drinks in hand the trio moved their conversation to a private salon, and soon old stories were being told and traded, tales of ill fortune bandied and trumped, insights offered and considered. A late supper was proposed. Roy excused himself for a moment just before dinner was served and returned to find his aunt and Edward talking about Roy's brief adventure with facial hair.

"He looked like a damn pimp," Chris was saying, "and you can trust me to know what a pimp looks like."

Edward turned a critical eye on the current Führer of Amestris, trying to visualize the offending moustache. Roy rolled his eyes as he slid into his chair, sighing a long suffering sigh.

"Facial hair lends a certain maturity to the masculine countenance," Roy opined. "I thought I looked rather distinguished."

"You thought wrong," Chris told him. "Riza Hawkeye was ready to get the rest of your team together so they could hold you down and shave you by force. You were foolishly jeopardizing your political career. No way they'd have made you Führer with those waxed pubic hairs on your face."

"Anyway, you're manly enough just the way you are," Ed assured him, giving Roy's hand a conciliatory pat as their waiter arrived with dinner. "You don't need a cheesy moustache."

"Thank you Edward," Roy said. "Coming from a man who believes that even the most humble of structures deserves a few gargoyles and winged dragons for embellishment, I'll accept that compliment in the spirit that it was given."

"Are you trying to tell me that I have bad taste?" the blond asked, a challenging eyebrow raised.

"Not at all," the Führer said as he sampled the wine their server had poured. "In fact, I was just wondering if you might be interested in a position on my staff as a fashion advisor. Perhaps it's time to update my personal image."

"Shut up and eat, Mustang," Ed advised without rancor.

"You looking for work, kid?" Chris asked, shooting Roy a smirk. "Can't the Führer come up with a few odd jobs to keep you occupied?"

"I don't want to work for this guy," Ed told her. "Tried it. It sucked."

"You could work for me," Chris offered, an impish grin spreading on her heavy jawed face.

"Bussing tables? Tending bar?" Ed asked, eyes twinkling.

"Sure," the older woman said, "but quite frankly, that's not where the _real_ money is." She arched a brow and smirked.

"Like anyone would actually pay for me," Edward stated unequivocally.

The Madam took her time to look him over very carefully from head to toe, and Roy admired the younger man's lack of self-conscious squirming.

"Anyone _would_," was finally Chris' verdict. "Quite a high price, too."

"I have a shit-ton of scars. My left leg's automail."

"Oh, that's right," Chris said, slapping a palm to her forehead. "I forgot. I'll have to revise my estimate. Upward."

Ed laughed. "I can see where your nephew learned to bullshit like a master and still maintain that air of sincerity."

"I'm being perfectly honest with you," Chris assured the younger man. "I never pull punches when it comes to the business. You glow, kid. From the inside. People would pay good money to touch you."

Edward snorted, but before he could comment, Roy beat him to it.

"But they won't." Nephew turned a half serious glare on his aunt. "He's not for sale."

Chris Mustang brought her infuriating smirk to bear on the Führer.

"Down boy," she murmured.

~0~

Light banter saw the party through the rest of dinner, and as the hour grew late, Whispers' proprietress walked her two personal guests downstairs to the private foyer to see them on their way.

"It's been a real pleasure to meet you, Ed," Chris said at the bottom of the curved stairway, taking his right hand in both of her. "Stop by any time you're in town. I always like to get fresh news from the outcountry. No one can churn up gossip like country folks. I've never been completely sure why that is."

"I'll be sure to drop in when I can," Ed said with a grin. "It's been my pleasure, too."

The young man moved to the front doors as Roy stepped close to his aunt. Chris gave her nephew a light peck on the cheek, managing to leave a bright red smudge, but did not pull immediately away. Her lips close to his ear, she said, "Do you remember what I told you when you started stepping out with Riza Hawkeye?"

Roy felt a cold chill. He remembered only too well his aunt's warning that he was making a mistake, that friendship was as far as he should take a relationship with his most trusted friend and colleague. He had not listened to that warning, and had deeply regretted it when he had come close to damaging his and Riza's closeness after their brief romance fell apart. Roy loved Riza still, and that love was returned, but it wasn't a romantic love and they should never have tried to force it to become one. He felt fortunate indeed that they had been able to move past that disaster, their friendship stronger now than ever.

"I remember," Roy replied with trepidation. "Are you going to tell me the same thing now?"

"No." The woman leaned away. Smiling fondly, she raised a hand to wipe the garish lipstick from her relieved nephew's cheek with a stubby thumb. "Just _ask_ him what he wants."

Easier said than done. Edward stood by the exit, looking curiously back at the Mustangs, and with a quick smile just for his aunt Roy went to join him, one bodyguard moving to flank his charge, one proceeding outside ahead of his Führer to check the street.

"Where are you off to from here, Edward?" Roy asked. "Do you have plans, or can I interest you in a midnight snack at the Manor?"

"Midnight snack?" Edward snorted. "Is that some kind of code for wall shaking, headboard cracking sex?"

"Why don't you join me and find out?" Roy suggested. "I know _I'm_ in the mood sink my teeth into a tasty little late evening treat."

"Tasty little . . . you _bastard_!" the younger man snarled, causing the bodyguards to glare. "We're the same damn height! Keep it up, and the only snack you'll be getting tonight is a knuckle sandwich."

The Führer was not at all intimidated by the warning. He smiled charmingly. "Mmm, excellent. It's been a while since I've indulged my rough side. I'm definitely in the mood," he purred. "You do wonders for my appetite, Edward." Grinning, Roy offered the younger man his arm. "Shall we?"

Ed glared at the proffered appendage with a look that conveyed his complete and utter disdain as he brushed past Roy to step out onto the sidewalk. The frown remained on his face all the way to the limousine, and Roy was just about to make a teasing comment about the blond's sense of humor, or lack thereof, when Edward suddenly grabbed the older man's arm and lunged past the startled lead guard to wrench the car door open. Roy was shoved unceremoniously inside just as the tinted glass of the rear door window exploded into a spray of sparkling crystal.

Time slowed to a crawl. The Führer found himself face down on the limo's floor. Twisting onto his back was difficult with Edward on hands and knees above him, coiled tight as a spring. He watched the younger man reach up to his collar and then fling his hand forward toward the driver's seat, silver flashing across the short distance. Roy's eyes followed the trajectory to the unfamiliar driver, military cap askew, the gun he had aimed at Roy dropping from his hand as he clawed at the short wooden handle sticking out of his throat.

Roy surged to his knees, trying to push his way out from under Edward, catching a glimpse of his two bodyguards sprawled motionless on the sidewalk, of sparks as a bullet ricocheted off the pavement, of people on the street fleeing in all directions. The younger man pushed back, then reached out into the line of fire to pull the car door closed. He pinned Roy against the front seat's back, his wild-eyed, clench jawed face inches away from the older man's as bullets began to punch through the limo's roof, the gunman blatantly disregarding his accomplice's safety. The rear window collapsed in a glittering shower, followed a split second later by the front passenger window. Ed rose to peer into the driver's seat as Roy reached to pull futilely at the driver's side rear door handle.

"We're not driving out of here. No keys," Ed snarled, then his left heel pistoned past Roy, kicking the door wide. Roy scrambled out to the road, pulling Ed along with him to take cover behind the rear fender.

The sniper had not given up. Bullets continued to poke random holes in the limo's trunk lid. Roy and Ed crouched low behind the car's rear quarterpanel while Roy strained to hear the welcome sound of return gun fire in vain. Ed glanced at Roy's hands, and the older man realised that he had slipped on his gloves automatically. Roy shifted to a squat, broken glass grinding under his heels, bracing to risk a quick glance over the back of the car in hopes of locating and targeting the gunman.

Ed clamped a hand down on Roy's shoulder. "Stay _down_, Mustang!" he growled.

"We're pinned down!" Roy snapped back. "If the fuel tank takes a hit, we're finished! I need to know where he is! Unlike you, I prefer not to just destroy the entire block!"

"I know where he is," Ed said, shoving Roy roughly behind him. "I'm going to point right at him. Sight straight down my arm."

Before Roy could protest, Ed popped head and shoulders from behind the car and thrust his arm out straight. In one smooth motion Roy lunged forward to rest his jaw on the younger man's tense shoulder, aimed, and snapped. The thin streak of fire arrowed into the shadows to suddenly reveal the fire escape and crouching assassin in the split second before the sniper was set aflame.

After that, the writhing, screaming man was horrifyingly easy to see.

~0~

Twenty minutes after the nearly successful assassination attempt, Roy was still running hot on adrenalin in a state of high pissoff. He and Ed were locked in Chris Mustang's private office, waiting for the cavalry to arrive to escort the Führer to the safety of Central Headquarters. The club had been closed. All staff, except for Whispers' in house security, had been given the rest of the night off. The building was eerily quiet.

Edward lounged on the large, comfortable chesterfield, feet stretched out toward the fireplace, head bowed and eyes closed, but in no way did he appeared truly relaxed. The younger man was likely conscious of his companion's simmering anger and well aware that some of it was directed at him.

Roy paced behind the couch like a caged predator, hands clasped tensely behind his back. He considered himself very fortunate to have survived the attack unscathed, but his bodyguards hadn't been so lucky. Both were dead, shot down by the sniper. Two civilians had also been injured in the resulting panic. And Roy's much younger former subordinate had deliberately become a human shield so that Roy could take out their attacker.

The evening's events were horrifically unacceptable.

The Führer's thoughts were interrupted by the sharp rasp of the door's lock. Both men turned to see Riza Hawkeye slip into the room followed closely by Chris Mustang, who quickly closed and locked the door once again. Roy lifted an eyebrow at his aunt's unwarranted action. It was clear that her nephew's close call had left her shaken, though she was hiding it well. The older woman gave Roy a reassuring wink, then turned her sharp gaze on Edward.

Riza came smartly to attention, lifting her hand in stiff salute. "Führer Mustang Sir!" Her voice was all business. "We have secured the street and surrounding buildings. We can leave whenever you're ready."

"At ease General," Roy said, jaw tight. "Status report."

The Hawk stood at parade rest, eyes locked to her commander's. "Sir. Both assassins are confirmed dead. Brigadier General Breda is personally conducting the forensic investigation of the scene. He will meet us at Central Headquarters to debrief as soon as his preliminary examination is complete." Riza's steel eyed gaze wavered. "Sir . . ."

"How did you know?" Chris' voice was low, but very forceful.

Roy turned to see the older woman still staring intently at Edward.

"I was watching as you walked to the limo. I saw you grab Roy and push him into the car _before_ the first shot was fired." Chris moved closer to the young man, a suspicious frown creasing her brow. "How did you know?"

Ed stood to face her. "I've been living in Xing the last two years," he said quietly. "To keep myself from getting rusty, I started sparring with one of the Emperor's elite guards. We became . . . well, not friends exactly, but we learned a lot of respect for each other." Ed turned to Roy. "Do you remember what Ling Yao told you about Qi?" he asked.

It took the Führer a moment to think back to that dark time months before the Promised Day, Gluttony's capture, the safe house, a monster on the rampage. "It had something to do with how he, Lan Fan, and her grandfather were able to sense the homunculi, didn't it?"

"Yes," Edward nodded. "Simply put, the conceptual base for Xingese Alkahestry recognizes that there is a flow of life energy within the earth that nourishes the world, like blood circulating through a living body. They call this flow _Lung Mei_ – the Dragon's Pulse. The life energy is called Qi, and even those who don't practice Alkahestry can learn to sense it. The Royal warriors of Xing's fifty clans are taught to read the flow of the Dragon's Pulse as part of their elite training, so they can tune in to their surroundings. They use it to sense the presence of living beings around them, reading the pulse of Qi within their bodies."

Roy nodded his understanding, and Ed continued. "At first sparring with Lan Fan was pretty frustrating. I'm fast, but her blocks and strikes were always just a bit faster. It took me a while to notice that she was actually moving a fraction of a second before I did. I finally asked her about that, and she explained that my Qi was telegraphing my intentions.

"I talked to Ling about it, and he set me up with this old blind guy who trains the palace guard. Master Po taught me a deep meditation technique that helped me tap in to the Dragon's Pulse. He was kind of surprised that someone my age was able to learn to do it. The Clans usually start training their warriors very young, around eight or nine years old."

"It doesn't surprise me that you could achieve such a deep level of concentration," Roy contended. "I was always amazed at how completely you could become absorbed in your research."

"So this Qi stuff warned you that something was wrong?" Chris asked with a frown.

"Yes."

"And that's how you knew exactly where the assassin was, even though you couldn't actually see him," Roy concluded. Ed nodded.

"That's an excellent ability for a personal body guard to have," Riza observed thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in . . ."

"No, he wouldn't," Roy said, beating Edward to his rejection of the job offer, surprising everyone else in the room. "There is, however, something important I'd like to say."

Roy stepped over to the smaller man and leaned in slightly so that they were eye to eye. "Don't you _ever_ place yourself in the line of fire for me again," he said, voice cold as ice.

"You're welcome, asshole," Ed replied cheerfully.

~0~

Two o'clock in the morning had come and gone, and Heymans Breda still had not arrived to share what he had discovered about his Führer's attackers. Roy continued to pace out his impatience, now in a windowless conference room at Central headquarters. Edward sat hunched over the large conference table, chin in his hand, following Roy with narrowed eyes. He had been offered a ride from Whispers to wherever he chose, but had elected to accompany Roy and his security contingent to Headquarters instead, and Roy had not been inclined to object. Riza stood at ease by the only door, watching as the Führer's restless movements gradually increased Edward's annoyance. The blonde woman had been very subdued, no doubt blaming herself for not being there to protect her old friend.

A quiet knock at the door proved not to be the awaited Investigations Division head, but the coffee brought by Colonel Falman was still much appreciated. The stoic older man stayed just long enough to sample the oppressive atmosphere and express his relief at the Führer's narrow escape, then excused himself to go on about his business.

Riza left her post at the door, the soothing aroma of freshly brewed dark roast luring her to the conference table. She had just set out three mugs when Breda burst through the door and entered the room with a purposeful stride. Shooting Roy a sloppy salute, he passed a bulging file folder to his commander with a grim smile.

"That's everything we have so far," he said. "We know the one you took out was male, Sir, but that's all we could tell from the remains. We think he got to the fire escape from the roof of the apartment building it's attached to, but nobody saw him. The one that was in the limo was also male, about thirty years old, and we have confirmed that he was not attached to the Transportation Division, or the military in general. We found the sergeant originally assigned to chauffer duty in his downtown flat. It looks like he was killed earlier this evening, probably just before his scheduled shift. The assassin who took his place had letter perfect identification, and all the right answers. The sergeant who turned your car over to him never suspected a thing."

"The drivers made a shift change while I was in Whispers," Roy said, reading the report. "That's unusual. How did the assassins know where I was going to be? I only made the date with Chris about three hours prior to heading over there."

"We're still trying to figure out how they were able to execute their plan on such short notice, and why they chose to go after you at Whispers. Kain Furey is checking all telephone lines at the Manor and here at headquarters for bugs, but so far everything is clean. We'll be checking the lines at Whispers and Chris Mustang's place next. It's too bad neither assassin survived." Breda gave Edward an inscrutable sideward glance.

Edward caught it. "I wasn't in any position to go easy on the scumbag in the limo. I made that mistake once before, and Ling almost paid for it."

Breda held up a placating hand. "Hey, I'd have done the same thing, but you're not military. Never were, really."

Ed did not deny it. "You don't have to be in the military to make hard choices," he said quietly.

Roy turned his attention to the folder in his hands, scowling as he paged through the case file, briefly scanning witness statements and crime scene photos. The assassins' apparent disregard for collateral damage appalled him. The number of shell casings collected at the scene proved that this security fiasco could have exacted a much higher toll from innocent bystanders.

"Have any known terrorist organizations taken credit for the attempt?" he asked.

"No," Heymans stated, "and I don't think this was a terrorist act. I'm afraid this mess is going to impact on our relations with Drachma." Roy looked up for clarification, and the heavyset redhead continued. "We think we have a name for one of them. Ilia Kuryakin." He flipped a tattered envelope onto the table in front of Edward. "That's who this letter is addressed to. We found it in the jacket pocket of the one Ed took out. I have a team sweeping the Central address. It's a fleabag hotel in the Red Quarter. Two men checked in two weeks ago, speaking Amestrian with a slight Drachmann accent. The manager identified the limo driver as one of them. For the most part the two men stayed in their room. They received one letter, last week – identified by the hotel manager as the one we found on the assassin, and one phone call, this afternoon, after which they left the hotel." The heavy set Intelligence Chief gestured toward the slim white packet. "The letter is written in Drachim. You want to read it Ed?"

Ed examined the envelope before removing the letter. He unfolded the dog-eared page and began reading, then huffed a small laugh.

"It's a love letter," he said, looking up. "From a girl named Alya Vetryak. Pretty explicit, too." He continued to read, then looked over the envelope again and frowned. "According to the return address, it was posted in Rородке, but a Drachmann didn't write this."

Breda was suddenly alert, and moved to sit at the table across from Ed. "What do you mean?" He wanted to know. "My forensic team confirmed that Rope-keya, or however you pronounce it, is a small town in northern Drachma, and the postmarks are consistent with standard Drachmann protocols. The Amestrian border stamp is also authentic."

"I'm not saying that the letter didn't come from there, I'm saying no native Drachmann wrote this. It's all fucked up." Irritated at Breda's continued scepticism, Edward's frown deepened, and he and ran a searching finger down the page. "Like . . . this. She calls him _Zhuchka_. That's a Drachmann name for a black dog. Whoever wrote this probably confused it with _zhuchok, _which is a masculine term of endearment. And here, _pchyolka_, 'little bee'. That's a feminine nickname that a parent would use for a little girl, not something a woman would call her male lover. This letter is full of screw-ups like that. My guess is that whoever ordered the hit wanted to make it look like Drachma was involved. Or maybe they are, and this is just a red herring."

Breda stared at the blond man across the table for a moment, then briskly stated, "I want you on my team. Get reinstated."

Edward's jaw dropped, appalled. "Fuck off!" he said with great conviction.

"Do it," the stout Redhead ordered. "I'll promote you to Lt. Colonel on the spot."

"Like I care. No. Way."

Breda changed tactics, losing his stern military bearing and adopting one of friendly cajoling. "Good money. Great opportunities. _National Library,_" he said with a conspiratorial wiggle of his eyebrows.

Edward just looked at the man and quietly laughed a dark, dangerous laugh.

Scrubbing his face, the Brigadier General momentarily considered his options before trying again. "Okay then. How about this: independent investigator, under contract to the Intelligence Division, reporting exclusively to me."

Edward snorted. "You couldn't afford me."

Roy and Riza froze, coffee mid pour, and their heads whipped around to stare at the two seated men. Edward's response had been a very definite 'maybe'.

And Breda knew it. He put both hands firmly on the table and pushed himself to standing. Then, palms flat on the polished wooden surface, arms straight, he leaned toward Edward. The portly redhead's barbed wire grin was challenging, clearly stating that this punk kid was going down.

"Talk to me," he rumbled in a low voice.

The room became very still. Ed slowly moved to match Breda's stance, leaning in until their noses were a bare hand width apart, his cocky smirk answering the issued challenge, encouraging this old geezer to bring it on. He locked eyes with his opponent. "Hazard pay rates. Double if I have to go out of town. Triple if I have to work with some dipshit partner _you_ think is necessary."

"You got it." No hesitation.

"I get injured on the job, you pay for my medical expenses, repairs to my automail, and full wages while I'm on medical leave."

Breda snorted. "Obviously."

"Per Diem allowance for travelling expenses."

Breda's beady grey eyes narrowed. "Again, obviously. Who do you think I am?" All eyes in the room shifted momentarily toward Roy, who pretended not to notice.

"The right to refuse assignments."

Breda thought that one over for a few moments. "Conditionally. I want the corresponding right to a justifiable explanation for the refusal, and the right to try to convince you otherwise, verbally, monetarily, or both."

"Done. Employment contract. One year term with an option for renewal. No offence, but I need this on paper."

Breda grinned. "I would too, in your position. I'll get it written up. You read it. If it needs to be modified, that happens. We both sign when it's right."

"Three month trial period, during which time the contract is dissolvable by either party, without penalty."

Breda's grin widened. "Nice touch. Fair enough."

"No interrogations. I hate that shit."

Breda lifted a hand to rub his chin, the sound of his digits scraping against stubble clear in the quiet of the room. "I might occasionally need you to interpret. As a bystander. I might also need you as a covert observer on occasion."

Edward considered this for a moment. "Done. No fucking uniform."

The Brigadier General's grin became predatory. The kid was caving, obviously just clutching at straws now. "Civies don't wear uniforms, duh."

"Is it me, or do you actually plan to agree to just about anything I ask for?" Edward asked testily.

Breda shrugged. "Within reason."

Edward prepared to test that claim. "Unrestricted access to the National Library, including the First Branch."

Breda shot a glance at the Führer, who nodded. "Check. Anything else?"

"When do I start?"

The redhead checked his watch. "About two hours ago." He thrust out his hand. Ed gripped it for a single, firm shake. "Taking part in the investigation of this assassination attempt is your first assignment. Any objections?"

"None."

"It's all yours. My forensic team is on the scene right now. Check in with Colonel Carrella. I'll expect a report tomorrow morning at 0800 hours. With recommendations. You need anything, you let me know."

Edward grinned and headed for the door. "Fine with me. Sleep's overrated anyway," the blond shot over his shoulder as he walked out.

The tension in the room walked out with him, and Roy suddenly found he had been holding his breath. He exhaled. "What the hell just happened?" he asked.

"I think Heymans just hired Edward," Riza said looking a little shell-shocked herself, eyes still on the door Edward had closed behind him. She turned to look at Roy as if for confirmation. "Heymans just hired Edward." Roy nodded slowly, and the blonde woman resumed pouring coffee into the Führer's cup, then filled another and brought it to a smugly posturing Breda. "Congratulations Heymans," she said with a small bow.

"Thanks Riza," the chubby Brigadier General said as he leaned cockily against the conference table. He savoured the aroma of his steaming coffee before taking a sip. "Got me an Elric under contract. Life is sweet."

"Enjoy your victory, Heymans. You have every right to be proud." Roy sipped his coffee as well. "I hope you still feel the same when the first building comes down."

Riza hid her smile behind her cup as the redhead frowned.

"He's not an alchemist anymore," Breda pointed out. "How much damage can he possibly do?"

"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," Hawkeye stated dryly. "And I don't mind admitting that I'm quite looking forward to it."

Roy just smiled. Considering that he had very nearly been assassinated earlier that evening, life was, indeed, sweet.


End file.
